Once Bitten, Twice Shy
by maeveiluka88
Summary: Hermione is brought on as an independent consultant when a Ministry worker turns up brutally murdered. Identifying the bite marks - partially transformed werewolf - was easy, but navigating the murky waters of office politics, dealing with her own marital problems, and battling her sudden fixation with one Draco Malfoy when he brings her a case... that's a little harder. DMHG/GWHP
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE/22ND AUGUST 1998**

The end of the Second Wizarding War was a welcome relief, and the summer had been dedicated to rebuilding Hogwarts and the many wizarding villages in Britain and Ireland, and huge taskforces of Obliviators and Healers to erase the damage caused to the Muggle world. It had also been full of funerals and heart break. There weren't many nights anymore that Hermione didn't wake up with the haunting howl of Percy and George Weasley ringing in her ears, the ghost of a smile that remained on Fred's face seemingly burnt into her retinas.

In her younger years, she had hated the need for sleep. It was a necessary evil that frequently got in the way of jamming more information into her brain. Today she only wished she could lie back down and close her eyes and not have to _think_ anymore.

There was a loud groan beside her in the bed and a sudden gust of warm, slightly sour morning breath swept across her face. Ron stretched, and slung an arm over her waist, pulling her into him and nuzzling her neck.

"G'morning 'mione." He yawned again, and she leaned away from his morning breath, laughing.

"Good morning Ron." A fond smile, before swinging her legs out of the bed and extracting herself from his arms. "You really should get up. We've got a full day of trials at the Ministry today."

A full day she wished she could avoid. She didn't much feel like coming face to face with people who had spent the last two years trying to kill her in earnest, nor did she want to stand up and face the angry Wizengamot and public and advocate on behalf of Narcissa and Draco Malfoy.

But her conscience was stronger than her reservations, and whether she liked it or not, Narcissa and Draco had both played important roles in ensuring the end of the War. Narcissa had lied about Harry's death, and Draco had refused to identify them in the Manor. Either would have meant a swift death for all involved and she shuddered to think of the consequences of that particular path.

* * *

Draco rarely fidgeted, it was not in his Pureblood upbringing; but he was also rarely tried as a war criminal and as far as he was concerned, if there was ever a reason to fidget, this was it.

His mother wholeheartedly disagreed, shooting him subtle disapproving looks periodically, maintaining a cool indifference to anyone watching them. Lucius stood as still as the marble statues that lined the holding chamber, virtually indistinguishable with his ashen skin and pale features. With 50 years each of schooled decorum, they were much more prepared for something like this. However well one could be prepared when their support of a homicidal madman was being scrutinised in great detail anyway.

An Auror opened the door of the chamber and gestured out to the hallway.

"Malfoy's, you're next," as if his gesture might've been for the gargoyles. Draco was suddenly overwhelmed with fear; he didn't want to face the people who had lost family members, who had been tortured or maimed or held hostage.

What a fucking _coward_ he was. He straightened his back, rearranged his features into an expressionless mask, and followed his parents into the short hall and through the doors to the Wizengamot court rooms. Hundreds of eyes almost pinned him to the floor as he entered, and he took a visible gulp of air.

Lucius stood forward first, and the Minister, Shacklebolt, stood and unrolled a long scroll.

"Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, the Wizengamot hereby accuses you of the following war crimes," the silence in the room was deafening, "Torture of Muggles, Muggleborns, and Half-Bloods, conspiring to murder, conspiring to torture, treasonous intent to overthrow the presiding Ministry, harbouring criminals, second degree murder of Charity Burbage, taking the Dark Mark, and taking part in illegal Death Eater activity."

Shacklebolt looked up from the scroll, which rolled itself up and disappeared with a muted puff. "The Wizengamot is aware that you defected in the Battle of Hogwarts, and that you were under great duress with Voldemort in your home. You will now be given the opportunity to present evidence and witnesses to speak on your behalf."

Lucius spoke quietly, but he still commanded the room. "Thank you Minister. I acknowledge and plead guilty to the accusations presented. I have no witnesses for my character."

"Very well," the Minister gestured to Narcissa, who stood, as Lucius took his seat. "Narcissa Druella Malfoy, _nèe_ Black, you are accused of obstruction of justice, conspiring with Voldemort to overthrow the Ministry..."

His voice faded into the background as Draco's eyes roamed the courtroom. Several angry faces jeered at him from the public booths, the members stands were not much better. His eyes roamed to the witness stand, and he realised with a jolt Potter was sitting there, next to Weasley and Granger. He had a sudden urge to empty his meagre breakfast onto his dragon hide shoes.

Apart from the Battle of Hogwarts, the last time he had seen the trio had been when his mad aunt had carved a slur into Granger's arm as she screamed and begged for her to stop. He looked down and swallowed the rising bile in his throat. If they were there as character witnesses for him, he had very little hope of avoiding a long stint in Azkaban.

"The Wizengamot calls upon Harry James Potter to bear witness to the actions of Narcissa Druella Malfoy." His head shot up again as Potter made his way to the platform. He listened in shock as Potter spoke on behalf of his mother, and watched as his mothers legs shook beneath her.

And all too soon, it was his turn.

He could feel the weight of everyone's gaze on him, but none more than the trio, burning into his neck. Shacklebolt read the list of his war crimes for everyone to hear. _Conspiring to murder Albus Dumbledore. Use of the Imperius Curse. Granting Death Eaters entry to Hogwarts. Secondary to the murder of Charity Burbage. Causing grievous harm and death to fellow students. Repeated use of forbidden Dark Magic. Conspiring to overthrow the Ministry._ The list went on and on and he could feel himself being crushed into the floor by the heel of justice.

And then he stopped, and Draco licked his lips and croaked, "Thank you Minister." Before he could get any further, the Minister beckoned to Potter and Granger.

"The Wizengamot calls on Harry James Potter to bear witness to the actions of Draco Lucius Malfoy." He had a dry mouth. How did he ever think breathing was an automatic thing? He had forgotten how to; his lungs may as well have been cinderblocks on his chest.

"Please state your name and birth date for the record."

"Harry James Potter, 31st of July, 1980." Well, at least Potter could speak.

"How do you know the defendant?"

"We attended Hogwarts together for six years." He concentrated on keeping his breathing even.

"And how well would you say you know him?"

"We were... acquainted."

"What do you know of his involvement in the War, and with Voldemort?"

Silence. He could hear his heart beat in his ear.

"He was forced against his will. I was there the night Dumbledore died. He didn't want to kill him. His family was being threatened."

His vision sparkled, and he let out a whoosh of air, gasping. Shacklebolt and Potter exchanged a glance.

"We now call upon Hermione Jean Granger to bear witness to the actions of Draco Lucius Malfoy."

His mouth was a desert, parched, and he was unable to swallow. Granger took Potters' place on the platform.

"Please state your name and date of birth for the record."

"Hermione Jean Granger. 19 September 1979."

"How do you know the defendant?"

He could feel her eyes, burning a hole in his bent head.

"We attended school together for six years."

Her answers were indistinguishable from Potters until she was asked about his war crimes.

"He is the reason we made it to the Battle of Hogwarts."

"Can you elaborate?" Draco met her gaze, molten silver and chocolate.

"He refused to identify us when asked by the Snatchers that captured us. He wouldn't fight us, he wouldn't kill, and he gave up his wand without a fight." Clearly the events had rearranged themselves in Grangers mind, but he wasn't going to argue. "Our relationship has been antagonistic in the past. He grew up indoctrinated with Pureblood supremacy, I'm a Muggleborn. We hated each other."

She took a sharp breath, "He was a child. He's still a child. He doesn't deserve to be punished for being a bullheaded teenager."

An inexplicable urge to laugh bubbled up his throat. He managed to hold his expression, a puff of air coming out his nose.

"He's still a right git." Weasley's voice came from the seats, shushed by Potter.

Draco could barely contain himself, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. Bursting into peals of laughter would not help his case in the slightest. Nothing was even _funny._ He was a git, but he wasn't an evil git, and for some reason that made him want to sit down and _howl_ with laughter until tears ran down his face and his ribs cramped.

"The Wizengamot will now convene."

The Mafoys were ushered back into the waiting chamber, and as the door slammed shut, to the utter bewilderment of his parents, Draco Malfoy dissolved into laughter.

* * *

If her research had been accurate, and it was very rare that it wasn't, the average Wizengamot convening lasted 3 hours and 32 minutes. This wasn't average though. They'd been through the trials of Yaxley, Dolohov, and Rodolphus LeStrange, all open-and-shut cases that required less than 30 minutes deliberation before delivering a guilty verdict and life in Azkaban. There was no mistaking the alliances of the sneering, arrogant faces that spat at her feet as they passed her being escorted to Azkaban.

The Malfoys were different though. Lucius was a coward who backed the wrong horse, so to speak. His loyalties lay with the cause, not the leader, and he would have been content ensuring the Malfoy line was not sullied by dirty blood ( _Merlin she hated the expression "dirty blood"_ ) if Voldemort had not recruited him. Narcissa skated the line between light and dark expertly; she would back whoever or whatever kept her family safe.

And Malfoy ( _Draco, she silently corrected),_ he was, as they say, an enigma wrapped in a paradox and shrouded in a conundrum. Not saying he wasn't a slimy little cockroach, but he certainly shouldn't spend his life in Azkaban because he was brought up as a bigot.

She sighed and rubbed her temples, and Ron squeezed her knee affectionately. She felt like she was on tenterhooks, and it wasn't even her trial for Godric's sake!

/

 _4 hours, 27 minutes, and counting. This was taking too long. She didn't know what she would be advocating for if she was a member but she couldn't just sit here and do nothing for hours on end._

 _/_

She had been pacing for an hour and four minutes, making it a total of 5 hours and 31 minutes since the Wizengamot convened.

The door cracked open. A stout, wrinkly witch beckoned them with a crooked finger and they crossed the threshold into the court room once more. The Malfoys entered the room from the other side, and she didn't think she had ever seen any of them as pale as they were right now.

Kingsley stood waiting for the three to be seated, casting _sonorus_ before speaking.

"Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, for crimes against the Wizarding World, you are hereby found guilty of all charges, and sentenced to Azkaban for 20 years. You may be granted parole in the form of house arrest on the proviso of giving up your wand if you demonstrate good will."

Well, that was probably the best he could have expected. Hermione resisted the urge to sneer at him.

"Narcissa Druella Malfoy, _n_ èe Black, for crimes against the Wizarding World, you have been found not guilty of conspiring with Voldemort, conspiring to overthrow the Ministry of Magic, of secondary murder of Charity Burbage, and of taking the Dark Mark. You have been found guilty of the obstruction of justice pertaining to the reign of Voldemort. The Wizengamot has taken into consideration your role in the victory at the Battle of Hogwarts, and are imposing a fine of 20,080 Galleons, 5 Sickles, and 13 Knuts, to be utilised in the reparations of Muggle Britain. You are to be contained to the grounds of the Malfoy Manor, pending an investigation of the manor."

Narcissa looked like she was about to faint from relief, before looking towards Draco, who was slowly turning a nauseating shade of faint green.

* * *

"Draco Lucius Malfoy." He had never felt smaller. "For crimes against the Wizarding World, you have been conditionally cleared of all charges."

A ripple of muttering went around the room. He wasn't sure if he'd heard the dark skinned wizard correctly. He wasn't entirely sure this whole this was not an extremely vivid hallucination.

"The conditions are as follows. You are to complete your education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You are not to use magic outside of class. You will pay reparations of 10,040 Galleons, 2 Sickles, and 21 Knuts. Your Gringotts accounts will be frozen until you have graduated."

Shacklebolt peered over the scroll. "Mr Malfoy, I expect you to take your education seriously, and I expect you to be remorseful in all your actions. Your behaviour will be closely monitored, and poor behaviour will not be tolerated."

Draco swallowed, finding his throat entirely too dry again, and nodded. Hogwarts. He could deal with it. Head down, finish the work, and get through it.

He locked his knees and looked up at Shacklebolt. "I accept these terms, thank you Minister."

 **AUTHORS NOTE: Hi all, and welcome to my story. I have been writing on and off for years, but have taken a break from writing fanfiction for a very long time. This story has been sitting in my head and has been slowly being converted to actual words over the last couple of months and I'm hoping have _actual people_ reading my stories will be motivation for me to write them. **

**I'm hoping to update each story I write weekly. I ship Dramione hard core, but have also recently been into Sirmione so you may see some of that too.**

 **Lastly, I would really appreciate reviews telling me what you're liking and not liking about the chapters and the characters, and the overall plot.**

 **Thanks all! ~ Alycat**

 **P.S. Love that I already have a review accusing me of advocating for a racist bully... we're in the prologue buddy, hold your horses, redemption is a part of this.**


	2. Chapter 1: The Passing of Time

**CHAPTER ONE/THE PASSING OF TIME/16TH MAY 2008**

Ginny Potter sat at a table in the small coffee shop next to the entrance to the Ministry in Muggle London. Her ankles were swollen and her feet encased in sensible dragon leather loafers that allowed her comfort in her last stretch of what she had decided was to be her last pregnancy. This didn't stop her from jumping to her feet and waving wildly when a bushy-haired brunette walked through the door of the café, barely visibly pregnant, but slightly ungainly all the same.

"Sorry I'm late!" Hermione Jean Weasley neè Granger, Order of Merlin First Class, let out a huff as she sat down. "Some blithering idiot from the Ministry doesn't understand the concept of patient confidentiality and I had to stop Miranda from hexing his bollocks off before I left."

"Does that mean the end of your consultancy with the Wizengamot?"

"Oh, no, just that we'll be working with someone different if the Wizengamot values the future children of its members." They caught each others eye for a moment, and let out simultaneous inelegant snorts.

Hermione had, unsurprisingly, been dissatisfied with the idea of being a Ministry working bee for the rest of her life, and as a result had trained in both magical law enforcement at the DMLE, and as a Healer. She had completed concurrent residencies in the Ministry and St Mungos, and was now the founder and CEO of Granger Consultancy, conducting independent research with a small specialised team, treating special cases, and advising.

She was a walking talking overachievement, and Ginny wouldn't have her any other way.

"What can I get you ladies?" The waitress placed some glasses and a bottle of water on the table, and Hermione poured the water. Ginny took this gratefully.

"I'll have an English breakfast with extra bacon please, and a strong black coffee."

"A croissant, and a strong tea with honey and milk thanks."

Hermione turned back to Ginny as the waitress left, "So, how's my youngest niece or nephew?"

Ginny groaned, "Almost finished baking I hope. I've told Harry if he wants anymore kids, he can figure out a spell to get himself pregnant."

"I've told Ron essentially the same thing. It apparently hadn't occurred to him that I would not want to spend the rest of my life barefoot and pregnant."

"When do you start your maternity leave?"

"When I go into labour." Hermione laughed, and Ginny rolled her eyes.

"By Godric's, woman, it wouldn't hurt you to relax a little."

"Work is relaxing!" She insisted, "And the baby's room is ready so there's really no reason for me to sit around doing nothing."

Ginny worked mostly from home as the Quidditch correspondent for the Daily Prophet, and was often featured in international magazines and papers, the International Quidditch Star turned writer. "I'm still taking a break Hermione, everything has been ready for months at Grimmauld Place."

"Yes, but I don't-" she lowered her voice and leaned in,"-want to spend extra time around Ronald right now."

The redhead made a face. "Again? What's happened now?"

Hermione sighed, "He's been staying over at the shop again. We just can't seem to stop arguing." She paused for a moment as the waitress set down her croissant and tea, "He thinks I should be laid up in bed for at least half the pregnancy."

"Well, after what happened with Rose, surely you understand it?" Rose had been born five weeks early after an irate client had pushed her through a plaster wall. Hermione scoffed.

"I'm certain it's only because I have been working so much that dinner isn't on the table when he gets home.

Ginny's eye twitched. "Right. So. Where do you want to bury the body?"

She laughed, and then sighed again. "Surely he knew when I married him, I wasn't going to just sit at home and play house? That's not who I am."

Ginny nodded sympathetically, and replied, rather indelicately, "My brother is an arse, and you know it as well as I do." She bit off a chunk of sausage, chewed, and the spoke through the sausage, "I don't know how to fix it for you, but definitely don't stop working, or I really will have to help you bury a body."

/

When Hermione returned from her lunch, she was relieved to find her office relatively quiet. Granger Consultancy operated out of a stately building near the entrance to Diagon Alley, and was well located for magical, Squib, and Muggleborn families alike. It was usually flat out, so the quiet was a welcome relief from what she was sure was a migraine coming on. Ugh. She didn't want to go home to have another argument with Ron, she didn't have the energy and she certainly didn't want to have to feel the baby in her womb move and startle at the muted yelling they no doubt heard.

And so Hermione Weasley neè Granger did what she always did when stressed – went to the library.

The Consultancy had an extensive library that had been contributed to as a show of peace by many Sacred Twenty-Eight families; some first edition books of great renown coming from the Malfoy library, and the Greengrass family had filled a few shelves with large legal tomes. The Zabini matriarch had paid her a visit, leaving her with half a library, the lingering smell of sandalwood, and a slackjawed expression at the ethereal witch who breezed in and out like a beautiful Dementor.

The library was a whirl of warm wood and cushioned seats, with candles hovering over each seat and an electric reading lamp on the side tables accompanying. There were sprawling tables with bench seats and lanterns for research that needed to be spread out, and pin boards along a large stretch of otherwise empty wall. She felt more at home here than anywhere else in the whole world.

Miranda stood in front of one of the pin boards with several photos and documents linked to each other with molten magical strings, her brow furrowed as she read a document from the clipboard. She made a barely audible noise of frustration and threw the clipboard into the chair beside her, before looking up and starting when she noticed Hermione.

"Ah! Sorry Healer Weasley, I didn't see you."

"It's quite alright Miranda." Hermione gave her a serious look, "Did Mr Broadmoor escape with the ability to have children?"

Miranda snorted, "Just barely. The man was the least cooperative auditor I have ever worked with, look at these list of demands!" She picked the clipboard up and shook it in her direction. "We couldn't comply if we wanted to, there are laws, and enchantments in place that stop us from giving out this information!"

Hermione scanned the parchment, feeling her eyebrows merging with her hairline. _Information required of former Death Eater clients, health reports, injuries or illnesses caused by Dark Magic, fertility status, genetic curses, diagnoses, contact details._ The list went on, and Hermione was quite sure that if she kept reading her eyebrows would either detach and take flight, or drag her entire body to the ceiling.

"I may have to make a Floo call Miranda, can I borrow this for a moment?" She said of the parchment.

Miranda nodded. "Give em hell Healer Weasley."

She returned to her office and activated the Floo. "Kingsley Shacklebolt, Ministry of Magic." The flames flared green, and shortly after she heard the smooth voice of her friend.

"Ms Granger, how are you?"

"Weasley," She reminded him, "I'm afraid this is not a friendly call Minister."

He laughed, "I suspected as much. How can I help you?"

"Which department does Mr Michael Broadmoor work in?"

"I believe he works in the Department of Magical Transportation."

"Hmm." She studied the copy of the audit before her. "Could you make some enquiries Minister? I have reason to believe Mr Broadmoor is being impersonated."

"To what end?"

"There has been an attempt by someone claiming to be Mr Broadmoor to gain access to information about some... less savoury clients of my consultancy. He said he was a Wizengamot member – I KNEW I didn't know him from there!"

"What do you need from me?"

"I would like to know if anyone can vouch for Mr Broadmoor's whereabouts for the entirety of today, and if not, whether he will be forthcoming of his location." She paced, and Kingsley disappeared for a moment, and then the fire roared and he was in her office.

She handed him list of demands that they had been given, and Kingsley read it in silence.

"It doesn't make any sense that a member from DMT would ask for this information, and it seems unlikely that it is a personal interest, as anyone would know we can't release that information without a Wizengamot order."

"In all likelihood is this is an amateur attempt at vigilante justice," said Kingsley, "But I will put someone from DMLE on it to investigate." He handed her the parchment back, and said seriously, "I trust that you can deal with this quietly until an investigation is complete."

"Of course."

* * *

Draco Malfoy wasn't often stumped. Whether due to his skill, luck, or a mixture of the two, the answer to his problems was usually right under his nose.

This time was different, and of all the rotten times his luck could've run out, now was the worst.

He was currently seated in the waiting room of the urgent care department of St Mungo's, his two year old son asleep in his lap and his own head in his hands. His wife, Astoria, was in a closed off cubicle a few metres away, with Healers running diagnostic spells and drawing blood while she lay inert.

She had collapsed for the first time a week after she had given birth to Scorpius. She had been taking a walk in the garden for the first time in a month, and one of the house elves had found her collapsed on the grounds forty minutes after she had gone out.

The Healers were baffled; there was nothing physically wrong with her that would indicate her collapse. She had been unconscious for two days, and when she had woken, she had been out of sorts and weak for months.

"Mr Malfoy?" A Healer resident in pale blue robes with a wand and bone insignia appeared from behind the curtain, and Draco's head shot up. "We have finished running the tests, it will be an hour or so before the results are back. Your wife is conscious, but weak. You can see her now."

Tori smiled wanly as he approached her bed with Scorpius on his hip. He settled on the side of her bed, placing Scorpius next to him, and took her hand. It was clammy and cold, but her face was flushed, and her eyes could barely stay open.

"Tori." He was hoarse and she gripped his hand lightly. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been trampled by a herd of stampeding hippogriffs."

Draco chuckled, "I can only imagine. Have they found anything?"

"They think it might be some sort of curse, but they don't know the origin. They want my permission to consult with Bill Weasley; he's a curse breaker at Gringotts and might have some insight."

Draco fought the urge to sneer. He had long ago concluded that the distaste for Weasley's must be genetic, but the oldest Weasley was indeed a curse breaking expert, and he'd get along with anyone right now if it meant they could solve this puzzle.

Astoria watched as he schooled his features into a neutral expression and laughed. "I've said yes. I thought you would be agreeable."

Draco nodded, smoothing back the stray hairs on his wife's clammy forehead, and they sat in comfortable silence until the Healing registrar returned.

"Mr and Mrs Malfoy?" The registrar looked apologetic, "I'm Healer Matthews. The results are back. I'm afraid they're mostly inconclusive again, but I will walk you through them now."

He arranged the parchment and prints on the table at the end of the bed, and waved his wand. The table stood up, transfiguring into a board of sorts with the results still attached.

"Astoria, as we were saying earlier, we do think it's some sort of curse – we don't know the exact origin, but these blood tests seem to indicate genetic." He pointed to one of the prints, which showed a slide of what he assumed was blood.

Except, not normal blood. It seemed to seize, the print showing the movement of the blood, turning black at random intervals, and thickening to the point that it must've not been flowing properly.

"As you can see, the blood isn't being properly regulated. It will skip through being too thin, to normal, to thickening." Healer Matthews continued, "If we can't control the thickening, it can develop clots in the lungs or heart. This can cause these attacks, " gesturing to Tori lying in the bed, "The chest pain, feeling weak and dizzy, and losing consciousness. Now, if it was solely a physical condition, we could treat it, either magically, or non-magically. Unfortunately, the nature of this curse seems to mean that none of the treatments we would normally deploy for this type of problem – blood replenishment potions, blood transfusions, medical spells – are having any effect on the blood at all."

Matthews pointed to the various prints and diagrams as he spoke, and Draco watched the diagram of a human heart seize and stop beating as one of the arteries was completely blocked. He shuddered, and gripped Tori's hand.

"At other times, the blood becomes too thin. This isn't usually as much of an issue, but it can cause excessive bleeding or bruising if you cut or scrape yourself. It can also cause internal bleeding, and joint damage, and can make you especially susceptible to infection."

With another wave of his wand, Healer Matthews righted the table, and the results sorted themselves into a neat pile.

"We're still not exactly sure of the origin, Mrs Malfoy." He said apologetically, "We're also not sure which treatments will ease your suffering, as we have no idea where the pain originates from. We have several experts we use to consult on cases like this – Mr Weasley, a curse breaker, as I was telling you before. And any of the Healer's from Granger Consultancy, they are usually multi-disciplinary and Healer Weasley is trained in Muggle medicine as well as magical. I would suggest talking to your parents to see if there's an intergenerational curse of some description, so we have some basis on which to structure our research. I'm afraid that without intervention, this condition will be fatal."

Matthews handed Draco the pile of test results and left. He let out a shaky breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

"Draco." Tori spoke, and he immediately gave her his full attention, "You've been a good husband."

"Don't talk like that." He whispered fiercely, "I will cure you myself if I have to."

She laughed, "I know you would. That's not what I want to say. Draco, I want a divorce."

"What?!"

"I don't want to spend my last months or years, however long I have left, in a marriage of obligation. We wouldn't have married if there wasn't a betrothal contract, you know that."

He nodded, absentmindedly running his fingers through his hair.

"I want you to get Scorp used to me maybe not being around."

Draco took a deep breath, closing his eyes and pretending he couldn't feel the tears prickling under his lids.

"I love you Draco," she slipped off her rings and laid them in his hand, closing his fingers around them, "I want you to be able to move on. That won't happen if we are bonded when I die."

He nodded again, and slipped the rings into his robes. "I need to take Scorp home to bed, I'll brew a pain draught for you as well."

She nodded, and he exhaled, standing up and picking up Scorpius in one fluid movement. The little blonde boy stirred and nuzzled his face into Draco's shoulder, before falling silent again. He placed a kiss on Tori's brow, nodded once, and left the room.

He did not see her pained expression as another wave ripped through her.


	3. Chapter 2: Pride Before Fall

**Authors Note: Hi All! Response has been fantastic so far, thanks for your kind words, PMs, reviews, and follows and favourites.**

 **I had a Guest reviewer query Astoria's dialogue at the end of the previous chapter, as she said her marriage to Draco was "one of obligation", but she still says she loves him. I just wanted to clarify this - THIS WAS ON PURPOSE. Astoria and Draco care for each other, they have been family friends since childhood, but they aren't in love with each other, and in all likelihood, if there had not been a marriage contract in place from before Draco's father ended up in Azkaban, they would not have married. However, their marriage has been, from all accounts, enjoyable, if not a passionate one.**

 **Hope this clears it up!**

 **Enjoy the chapter ~ Alycat**

 **CHAPTER TWO/PRIDE BEFORE FALL/10 JUNE 2008**

"The baby is coming!" Harry's voice rang out from her office fireplace. "Gin's been in labour for about six hours, the Mediwitches think it's close."

"Oh!" Hermione jumped up from her desk, paperwork pitching forward and scattering over the oaken surface, stopping short of spilling over the edges. "Does Ron know?"

"Not yet, I thought you could go by the shop and tell George as well?"

"Of course!" She pulled on her outer robes and picked up her wand and handbag, shooing Harry out of the fireplace, "Go back to your wife, we'll be there within the hour."

As soon as his head had disappeared, she took a handful of Floo powder, depositing it in the fireplace. The flames rose up green, and with a "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, Diagon Alley." she was on her way.

/

"Hermione!" Her husband saw her emerge from the fireplace and a look of concern crossed his face, "Are you okay? Is the baby okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine Ronald, where is George?" She waved his concern off, and laid a hand on his arm. He caught her hand in his and lifted it to his lips, before pulling her through the doorway and into the brash, colourful world of Weasley Wizard Wheezes.

The store was relatively quiet – Hogwarts students wouldn't be shopping for the new school year for a couple more weeks, and so the store mainly relied on mail orders and the trickle of foot traffic from Diagon Alley for the midsummer lull.

George was stacking some sort of (no doubt ominous) sweets onto the shelves behind the counter, and grinned when he caught sight of her. "How's our favourite bookworm?"

"Much better than your sister, I'd say she's hexing Harry's bollocks off right about now."

"What, what did Harry do?"

"Well, I'd say right about now she'll be cursing his name for the fact she's in labour and about to push a watermelon out of her womb."

Twin looks of red headed astonishment, and then a mad scramble to grab wands and bags. George called out to Verity to let her know they were leaving, and she waved as they left.

/

They arrived in the lobby of Mungo's Maternity, and the receptionist pointed them down the left hall. It didn't take them long to locate Ginny Potter.

"HARRY JAMES POTTER IF YOU EVEN _THINK_ OF BRINGING THAT COCK NEAR ME AGAIN I WILL CURSE YOU SO HARD YOUR FATHER WILL FEEL IT."

Some mumbling followed this, and then Ginny roared again, this time wordlessly. A Mediwitch exited the room in a hurry, nodding to them as she passed. She returned a few minutes later with a pile of fresh towels, the door banging shut behind her. The Weasley's exchanged glances, and each took a seat against the hall wall.

Two hours later, Hermione was dozing on Ron's shoulder. The silence was occasionally punctuated with loud groans of effort from the hospital room. The elder Weasley's had been informed, and would be visiting some time the next day. Rose and the Potter boys were with Molly.

The hospital door cracked open, and Harry stuck his head out into the hallway, his eyes bleary but his smile large.

"It's a girl!" The hall erupted like it was the Quidditch World Cup, George thumping Harry on the back and Ron looking around dazedly, saying "A girl, I have a niece, a GIRL."

"I'll understand if I don't get any congratulations, I only _gave birth,_ after all." Ginny's voice floated out into the hallway, and they sheepishly trailed into the room. Ginny sat, happy and exhausted, with a tiny baby with a sprout of red hair nuzzled to her breast sucking furiously.

"Lily Luna Potter, welcome to the world." Harry said softly, looking fondly down at the pair.

Inexplicably, Hermione found she had a lump in her throat, which she hurriedly tried to swallow. She brushed away the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

"Gin, she's beautiful. Harry, you've got a _daughter."_ Her voice trembled with the effort of holding back tears, "Congratulations. Oh my god, congratulations!"

Ron looked alarmed by her sudden burst of emotion, and she gave him a reassuring, albeit watery, smile.

"Pregnancy hormones, hey?" Ginny laughed, seeing the wordless exchange between the two, and Hermione nodded.

* * *

Draco and Astoria divorced amicably on June 11th 2008, severing the bond that the marriage contract had formed between them. She then moved into the Eastern wing of the remodelled Malfoy Manor, with a small team of medi-elves – house elves trained in basic first aid magic.

She had gotten worse, the attacks more frequent and more painful. And although it was distasteful, he had come to the Consultancy recommended to him by Healer Matthews. Granger Consultancy.

He assumed it was founded by Hermione Granger, as Granger was not a Magical name and he did not know of any other Muggleborns with the name. Granger had done Magical Law Enforcement as far as he could recall, so it was possible that the consultancy was a side venture that was run by other employees – whichever Weasley had become a Healer.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and entered the building.

The reception area was simple and tasteful. Two receptionists sat behind a large wooden desk with some sort of machine in front of each of them. The carpet was a sensible off white and the décor wasn't as brashly Gryffindor as he had expected from a Granger/Weasley amalgamation, rather in dark wood with cream accents.

He cleared his throat nervously, and one of the receptionists looked up from her screen.

"Can I help you sir?"

"I was wanting to see... Healer Weasley?" He posed it as a question, and immediately wanted to be swallowed by the floor.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Er... no, I don't."

The receptionist clicked her tongue, and took out a large appointment book, scanning it quickly. "She doesn't have anything in her bookings right now, I will check to see if she's got time to see you."

She exchanged looks with the witch next to her, who nodded once and exited the reception, disappearing down a hallway.

"If you could please fill this out." The first witch handed him a sheet of parchment titled "New Client", and a quill. She pointed to the chairs lining one of the walls, and he sat down as he scanned the parchment.

 _Name: Draco Malfoy_

 _Medical/_ _Legal case_

 _Contact details_

 _Case details_

He had been concentrating too hard, because he was startled when the receptionist's voice broke his concentration.

"Healer Weasley will see you now."

He followed the witch back down the hallway, right to the end. At the end of the corridor was a solid oak door, and the receptionist rapped three times.

"Come in." A feminine voice floated through the wood, and the door swung inwards. Hermione Granger stood up as he entered the room, a small bump jutting out from her hips, announcing her condition to the world.

Upon seeing him, her expression dropped for a moment, before professionalism took over and shuttered her emotions tightly behind a mask.

"Granger?" He tried to mask the surprise in his voice.

"I go by Weasley professionally." She smiled, and gestured to the chair in front of her desk, and dismissed the receptionist with a nod. Draco sat down.

"I'm surprised, I thought that you worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"I did concurrent residencies at DMLE and St Mungo's." She explained, "I opened my consultancy because I didn't want to work for the Ministry."

"Ah."

There was an awkward pause in the conversation, and Granger (Weasley) cleared her throat.

"What can I do for you today Mr Malfoy?"

"Er..." Another pause, and then he explained Astoria's condition, pulling the test results from his robes to show her. Granger (Weasley!) listened intently, scrawling notes as she went, making a copy of the results for herself.

He found it made him uncomfortable to maintain eye contact, and so, with every fibre of his upbringing screaming at him, he spoke quickly, staring at his hands sitting in his lap.

"Mr Malfoy, I can't investigate a living patient without express permission from them or an authorised representative. I understand Astoria is your wife-"

"Ex-wife." He interrupted, "We were legally divorced two days ago."

Granger shuffled the notes in front of her, looking a little uncomfortable. "Right. Ex-wife. Anyway, without her permission I can't investigate. You'll either need to bring her in at our next appointment, or bring a notarised letter authorising me to take her case."

"I want to help." He brought his eyes up to meet hers, "I'm a potioneer by trade, I can help."

Granger looked at him sympathetically, "We can discuss that once we have Astoria's consent."

She stood, an indication that the meeting was over, and showed him to the door. He held his hand out for her, and she only hesitated a moment before gripping it in a firm handshake.

* * *

Hermione felt that maybe she was dreaming – she was prone to vivid pregnancy dreams, and it seemed the only explanation for not ending up dead or a murderer when faced with Draco Malfoy, after all these years.

He had kept his head down for the past ten years. She had seen a small announcement about his marriage to Astoria Greengrass, and another a few years after announcing the birth of his son. Apart from those, he had stayed out of the newspapers (or at least, off the front page, which was as far as she looked in the Daily Rag).

Until he had mentioned his trade, she hadn't even known what he'd done career-wise; in fact, she would have assumed he was living off his family wealth if asked.

He'd never struck her as a particularly caring person, but if she was going to be fair (and Hermione tried to be unfailingly fair, a habit that drove Ron up the wall), she hadn't known him well enough to really gauge his personality on an intimate level.

She looked over the notes she had taken during her meeting – she knew Healer Matthews well, had even mentored him for a spell, so she felt reasonably confident in his conclusion of a genetic curse of some sort.

The child in her belly gave a hearty kick, and she laughed fondly, a hand drifting to rest atop her small bump.

There was a knock on her door, and then Isabel, one of the receptionists, opened the door.

"Your 2pm is here."

"Thank you Isabel, send them through."

She rearranged her notes in chronological order, placed them in a file, and sent the file to sort itself alphabetically in her filing cabinet with a quick flick of her wand.

"Ms. Granger." Kingsley Shacklebolt opened the door, sans receptionist, and took a seat facing her across the desk.

"Weasley." She reminded him, smiling. "What have you got for me, Kingsley?"

He gave a rumbling laugh, "Straight to the point, just how I like it." He handed her a roll of parchment, "Mr Broadmoor was present and witnessed at work at the DMT on the 16th of May. He had an unusual occurrence the day before however. His wife is a Muggleborn and they live in Muggle London, so he takes the Underground usually. He found himself outside Seven Sisters station with no recollection of how he got there. He lives in Stanmore."

Hermione read the statement given by Mr Broadmoor with increasing alarm. "This sounds like a classic Obliviation case, but to what end?"

"To what end indeed. He is happy to speak to you if you wish." But even as he said this, she was shaking her head.

"No no, but I need you to keep looking into this for me. Identify vigilante cases that are unsolved, reach out to underground contacts to see if there's any uprising or talk of justice – the only "unscrupulous" clients I have are ones who were proven Imperioused or underage, and I want this stopped before someone gets hurt."

Kingsley nodded in agreement, "I'm inclined to agree. This could be Light vigilante justice, or someone Dark trying to reach out to former supporters – either way, it doesn't bode well to be having Ministry workers being obliviated and impersonated."

Until he had said it, it hadn't occurred to Hermione that it could be the Dark that were uprising and her chest felt suddenly tight with panic. Kingsley caught her expression and laid a comforting hand on top of hers.

"We will stop this before it can begin." He assured her, and she nodded, taking in a shaky breath, "Try not to think about it too much."

She shot him an incredulous look, but let out a breath nonetheless.

"I'll assemble a task force within the Auror's Office."

With that, he was gone, leaving Hermione still slightly breathless and panicked. Her Floo flared green, and Ron stepped out.

"I assume you haven't had lunch?" His tone was light, but his eyes were worried.

Hermione rolled her eyes, "No, actually, I had someone unexpected drop in. Draco Malfoy."

Ron looked wary, "What did he want?"

"Nothing ominous, just a case for me." She stood, "Shall we grab lunch then? I assume that's why you're here?"

"Yeah, there's a new café in Diagon Alley, I thought you might like the pastries." She had been craving Apricot Danishes for the last week and a half, thanks to the child kicking up a fuss in her womb, and she looked towards him gratefully.

Ron was almost as busy as Hermione these days; he worked in development for Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, and occasionally took over the floor to give George a break, and also consulted for Granger Consultancy on weekends, as a motives analyst for the legal department following his brief but formidable career as an Auror.

"I'm investigating something with Kingsley right now." She said as they walked.

"Oh, what is it?"

"We had someone coming in claiming to be a Wizengamot member, trying to get confidential files without an Order. We've since found out that the employee had a case that looks like he was Obliviated the night beforehand, and he was accounted for the day that he supposedly saw GC."

Ron furrowed his brow, thinking. "Why?"

"That's what we're investigating. Kingsley thinks it's probably an amateur vigilante, but we're looking into it to ensure that it's not Dark."

He looked alarmed at that, "You don't really think so, do you?"

She bit her lip, and sighed, "I'm really not sure. I don't even know how the information whoever it was was seeking would be helpful."

They had arrived at The Leaky Cauldron at that point, and they ceased the conversation as they weaved their way through the patrons out to the entrance of Diagon Alley. Hermione tapped a brick with her wand, and they stood back as the wall unknit itself to reveal the bustling cobblestoned street.

Ron led the way to Ankernel Café, opening the door for her with a flourish. The café was small, busy, and homely. Two witches were behind the counter, which displayed a range of sandwiches and pastries.

Hermione hummed in approval as she surveyed the selection, and greeted the witches.

"Good afternoon, how are you today?"

The fair headed older witch with a name tag reading "I am your Sandwitch today: Desma" looked up from the book of accounts she was checking and smiled, "I'm well thank you, dear. What can I do for you?"

She ummed and aahed for a few seconds before selecting a sandwich and a pastry with her usual tea.

They selected a table by the window, a short vase of daffodils swinging gaily in the breeze as the door opened each time.

"How's George?"

"He's good. Angelina is going mad at home, apparently, little Fred is as much a troublemaker as big Fred was."

Hermione laughed lightly, and thanked the younger Sandwitch as she set their orders on the table.

Their lunch was pleasant, and the tension that had haunted them for the past few months had dissipated, much to her relief. All too soon it was time for her to return to the Consultancy for her 4pm meeting.

* * *

Ginny Potter sat at her kitchen bench with a large mug of coffee, enjoying a brief moment of peace. Lily Luna was asleep upstairs, and her two boys were with her mother that day.

Harry stumbled out of the hallway, kissing her forehead before pouring himself a cup of coffee and settling next to her.

"Alright, Gin?"

"Enjoying the sun." She closed her eyes and turned her face towards the rays, listening as Harry got up when an owl tapped on the window.

"Ah, did you know we're getting a divorce?" Harry asked, amusement clear in his voice.

Ginny cracked one eye open to examine her husband, "Is it because I'm snogging Neville?"

Harry clicked his tongue as he scanned the article in Witch Weekly, "No, it's because I'm snogging Neville."

"God dammit Potter, what have I said about leaving me to conduct my affairs in peace?"

They shared a look, and both began laughing. Rita Skeeter had left the Prophet for Witch Weekly, and Ginny was quite sure that WW only kept her around for comedic value. This was their third divorce in as many years, and Ginny had lost count of the number of affairs each of them had had.

There was a knock on the door, and Ginny grinned at her husband, "They're here!"

They, of course, being Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, who came kid-free every Saturday morning for breakfast. Ron still ate enough to sate a small army, and as such, was in charge of providing the sausages and bacon each week.

"What's this laughter I hear?" Hermione asked, as she kissed Ginny and Harry on the cheek.

"Harry's snogging Neville."

Ron sputtered, having heard this sentence halfway through taking a sip from Ginny's coffee. Hermione nodded knowingly.

"Neville's been busy, I was snogging him last week," She commented airily, "According to dear old Rita, we'd done a bit of a wife swap. Ron got Luna, Neville got me."

And so continued the weekly tradition of not taking Rita Skeeter seriously in the slightest.

Hermione made her way into the kitchen, pulling out the pans, and eggs from the fridge humming as she went.

* * *

Later, over brunch, she told them about the investigation Kingsley was leading. Harry furrowed his brow, much like Ron had when she had told him.

"I heard about that, they've got a task force on it."

"A task force?!" Ginny's head whipped around from Hermione to Harry, eyes wide. Before she could say anything else, a silver lynx flew through the window and landed in the middle of the table.

"Mr Potter, you're required in the Auror department. Bring Ms Granger, if you will." The gravelly voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt sounded serious, and Hermione felt a sinking in her stomach.

She grabbed her bag and coat, and took Harry's arm as he turned on the spot, landing smoothly at the apparition point near the London entrance to the Ministry. She exchanged a worried glance with Harry, and they hurried to level 2.

Kingsley sat grimly in Harry's office, and looked up when they entered.

"Thank you for being prompt."

"What's going on Kingsley?"

"There's been a murder."

Hermione's hand flew to cover her mouth, "Who?"

"A Mr Michael Broadmoor, of the Department of Magical Transport."


	4. Chapter 3: The Life of Mr M Broadmoor

**CHAPTER THREE/THE LIFE OF MR M BROADMOOR/2 AUGUST 2008**

Having lived through a war, Hermione wasn't shaken by much. The news of Mr Broadmoor's death washed over her without a pause, but the implications of it dawned on her with horror.

Harry broke through her thoughts, "Who is Michael Broadmoor?"

"The man I was telling you about, he was impersonated." Hermione spoke quietly in his direction, and Harry immediately filled in the unspoken words.

"How was he killed?" Harry smoothly flowed into Auror mode.

"Brutally. We suspect a Dark creature..."

He paused, and Hermione asked with trepidation, "What type of creature Kingsley?"

"I don't want to incite panic-" Hermione made an impatient noise, "-but it looks like the work of a Quintaped."

"A _Quintaped?"_ She asked incredulously, "Kingsley, are you _sure?"_

"Well, no, but-"

"They're only found on the Isle of Drear, pray tell how one would have appeared in Muggle London?"

"We're not sure. The body had teeth marks consistent with early Muggle victims, the man's throat has been ripped out, and he has had both arms torn off and discarded."

"The body was found?"

"Yes, his wife woke up in the morning to the sight on the bed next to her."

"That doesn't make sense. If it was a Quintaped, there would be precious little left to identify him with. And his wife was laid next to him? Why didn't it touch her?" With each question, Hermione's hair seemed to grow and crackle with magic, and Harry and Kingsley exchanged a glance, knowing from experience that the best option was to let her work through it herself. "If the teeth marks match though... but his _wife_ was just left?"

She let out a quiet noise of frustration, and continued pacing. "Kingsley, have you questioned the wife?"

"Yes. She's rather too upset to be of any help this morning."

"Naturally." She hummed, "Am I being brought on as a consultant for the case?"

"We think that would be best, yes."

She nodded in agreement, "If you send the consultancy contract through by midday I'll sign it and have it back to you by this evening."

Kingsley nodded in agreement, and then glanced towards the mounting paperwork on his desk. Harry took this as a dismissal, bobbing his head, and grabbing Hermione, directing her towards the exit.

"You know Ron won't be happy with you on a dangerous case while you're pregnant, right?"

She snorted, "Oh I know. I'm hoping to avoid an argument though, so don't you dare tell him Harry!"

He raised his arms defensively, "Alright, I'm just saying."

Hermione sighed. Harry was right, of course, if Ron found out, they were going to have another massive blow-out, and he'd only just stopped staying over at the shop.

And inevitably he would find out, because his weekend moonlighting at the consultancy would be called upon as the regional motives expert. Like it or not, he needed to be told.

* * *

"So what you're telling me," Ron said, in a loud voice that drowned out the end of Hermione's sentence, "is that my heavily pregnant wife, in her delicate condition.."

"Ronald, please," She scoffed, "I'm _hardl-"_

"..MY HEAVILY PREGNANT WIFE," He continued as though she hadn't spoken at all, "wants to hunt down a dangerous magical creature, who has attacked someone for REASONS UNKNOWN-"

She tuned him out at this point. _Happy place, happy place, happy place._ A technique she had started using shortly after moving in with Ron that had continued throughout their marriage.

She tuned back in to Ron when he turned to her, an incredulous look on his face, "Well?"

"We have this argument every time. Even when I'm not pregnant." Her tone was exasperated, "I'm not "hunting down dangerous creatures", Ronald, I'm a fucking consultant."

"It could make you a target!"

"I've spent the majority of my life with a neon target following me around, not like this'll be a huge change."

"But-" Hermione held up her hand, looking thoroughly fed up.

"I'm not having this argument again Ron, we have it twice a week and you should know by now that it won't change a thing."

Ron deflated, and she felt a twinge of guilt that she quickly quashed. "Will you consult for me on the case?"

He looked surprised, "You mean you want me to?"

"You're the best in the field. You're a pain in my arse, but I'll never deny that."

"..As long as I can be on field with you if it's needed."

"Ron!"

"That's my condition."

* * *

"Hello?" Draco opened the door to Tori's quarters even as he knocked, and found her sitting in the window seat overlooking the vegetable gardens.

"Mummy!" Scorp peeked around Draco's legs, and launched himself towards his mother. She caught him with an 'oof' and a smile.

"Feeling any better?" Draco asked.

"A little. The Healer has me on Muggle potion for blood thinning. Figures better thin blood than thick at this point, it's easier to treat."

He shifted from one foot to the other, and Astoria examined him, "Draco, what's wrong?"

"Would you be up for a trip out of the house today?"

"I think so."

+/

Muggle London never failed to put Draco Malfoy in a state of awe – the buildings, so tall and vast, were built without an ounce of magic, just the physical labour of the hundreds of thousands of Londoners milling in the streets.

He made an effort to bring Scorp into Muggle London about once a week, determined that he would not grow to be as stuck up his own arse as Draco had been as a child. He didn't want Scorp to need a war to make him see the error of his ways.

There was an added bonus that no one knew him in Muggle London, and he didn't have to gauge upon meeting someone whether they were going to treat him like a normal person, spit in his face, or beg him to fund their cause.

Unfortunately, the visit was not one of leisure, and he hurried his ailing ex-wife towards the entry of Diagon Alley, or more specifically, the Granger Consultancy offices.

"Good afternoon, Isabel." He greeted the dark-haired receptionist cordially, who smiled and gestured for him to take a seat.

"Good afternoon Mr Malfoy. I'm happy to see you have seen the value in booking an appointment this time around." He turned to see Granger in the hallway, and for a moment he appraised her figure. The small bump, evidence of her second child, had grown in the two months since his initial appointment, and she glowed with the kind of radiance only an easy pregnancy could give you. He'd never seen it on Astoria.

"Granger." He nodded, and placed a hand on Astoria's lower back, steering her forward. "This is Astoria Greengrass, my ex-wife."

Granger shook her hand, "Hermione Weasley. Come through to my office."

She led them down the hallway, and they both sat in the provided seats in front of her desk. Granger didn't sit down though, she lowered herself to Scorp's level and spoke to him.

"Hello, my name's Healer Weasley. What's your name?"

Scorpius grinned at her, "Scorpy!"

She grinned back, "Nice to meet you, Scorpy. I have to speak to your Mummy and Daddy, but I have some toys over here for you to play with. Is it okay if you just play quietly on your own for a little while?"

Scorpius, who was usually quite stranger-shy, nodded happily, and toddled over to the small pile of toys that Granger had conjured in the corner. Granger smoothed the front of her pencil skirt as she stood and returned to her desk.

"Alright. Now, may I call you Astoria?" She directed the question to his ex-wife, who nodded her consent, "Lovely. Astoria, I'm a Healer who specialises in taking on complex cases. Oftentimes this involves consulting on legal cases or conducting third party autopsies, but I do occasionally take on straight medical cases. Your ex-husband has asked me to investigate your genetic curse."

She paused, giving Astoria a moment to catch up. Tori nodded.

"To do so, I need express permission from yourself, given that you are alive and of sound mind." She sounded as though she was reciting from a text book, and Draco had a sudden vision of Granger poring over a DMLE-prescribed text, brow furrowed as she memorised the words.

"Do... Do you think you have a chance at a cure?" Tori wasn't looking at him, or Granger. Her hands were clenched tightly, and Draco could tell by her tone that she almost daren't hope.

"Astoria." Granger spoke firmly, and Tori met her gaze, "I'm not in the business of promising the moon when I can't guarantee anything at all. What I can guarantee is a team of specialised medical researchers on your case. If there is a cure, you'd be hard pressed choosing a better team to find it."

Tori took a shuddered breath and nodded. "Alright. You have my permission. I presume there is a contract to sign."

Granger nodded and produced a document several pages thick.

"This contains information on the Consultancy privacy policy, the initial process we go through, and what paths we may take to investigate. There is also a form to give us permission to access your Healing records. Mr Malfoy provided me with some test results from Healer Alban Matthews, but I may need to look further into your history. Lastly, there is a form giving me permission to speak with your family and your ex-husband about your case. You can strike out anyone you don't wish us to talk to."

Draco reached over the desk and plucked the document from her hands, "If you don't mind, we will have the Malfoy family contract lawyers look over this."

"I expected nothing less."

* * *

"Gin, please don't make me go home."

"You can face Voldemort but not your husband of eight years?"

"At least I knew what I was up against." Hermione groaned, her head in her hands. Ron had sent her an owl missive two hours beforehand saying simply 'We need to talk'.

"Have you got any idea what it could be?"

"The Daily Prophet probably told him you and I are eloping."

Ginny snorted.

"What's this about my wife leaving me?" Harry's quip was met with another piteous groan from Hermione, still muffled by her hands.

"Ron is practising his wife-wrangling skills." said Ginny by way of explanation. Harry did not look as though it was a helpful clarification.

"Alright, Hermy." Harry said, with a completely straight face. Hermione's head shot up from her hands to pin him with a deeply offended glare, "Time for you to get up and trot on home like a good girl."

It worked. Hermione stood with a huff, marched to the fireplace, and with a shout of "The Warren" was gone.

When Ginny turned back to her husband, he was holding a bouquet of peonies.

"I tried to get something as pretty as you, but apparently I can't because it doesn't exist."

She rolled her eyes, pulled the bouquet from his hands and placed it on the kitchen bench, and said, "Too much talking, Potter." Before kissing him soundly.

+/

"Ronald?" The house was dark when she got home, and silent. She made her way to the kitchen, pausing to hang up keys that she never used but carried anyway.

Ron was sitting at the kitchen table, the soft glow of candlelight bathing his face gold. There were a couple of takeaway containers and a bottle of elf-made non-alcoholic wine, and Ron held a bouquet of roses and sported a sheepish expression.

"Hey." He said, holding out the bouquet. It wilted slightly, and Hermione hid her grimace. She'd never liked roses.

"Hi, what are you doing?" She took the roses anyway, giving them a hearty sniff.

"I just thought... we need to talk. I'm sorry."

Hermione blinked, an apology being the last thing she'd expected. "Pardon?"

"I'm sorry," He repeated, and sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, "I'm not good at this and you know it. I... we've been fighting again so much, and I don't know how to fix it but I want to."

Her heart sunk a little, "Ron, I-"

He held up a hand, "I just want to get this out before you speak."

She nodded.

"I'm willing to do whatever I need to do to get us back to where we were at the beginning."

Hermione sank into the seat opposite to him, her bump making contact with the edge of the table.

"I'm sick of fighting all the time too." He met her gaze as she spoke, "I don't know how to fix it, but I need a bit of space to do so."

"Do you mean...?"

She sighed this time, "I think I should rent out a flat, maybe near the consultancy. Just for me. We can split Rose's weekends between us."

"Wait, are you breaking up with me?"

"No! No. I just think I need some space to figure out what we need to fix this. I'm tired Ron. I'm pregnant and running my own business and I'm coming home every night to silence our bedroom and yell at each other so Rosie doesn't hear."

She stood and began to head upstairs. Ron followed her.

"I just, maybe you could stay in the guest room? Or I could?" His voice betrayed his panic, and Hermione swung around and grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Ronald!" Deep breath, happy place, "I am not leaving you! It's just... a break. We both need a break. Now. I am going to pack a bag, and I'm going to stay at Harry's tonight. We'll figure things out tomorrow on a decent night's sleep. Okay? Okay."

Ron nodded mutely and watched in silence as Hermione packed her battered but functional beaded bag with a few key items.

"I'm sorry Ron." She held her hand up to his cheek and he leaned into it, closing his eyes. "This isn't final. We just... can't keep this up. I'm going to burn out."

With that, she was gone.

* * *

 **AUTHORS NOTE: Hi all! Thanks for all the views. This chapter took lots of mulling over because I didn't want to force it. Let me know if you think I've succeeded. I firmly believe that Ron and Hermione were not compatible characters, but I also think they'd stick it out for a long time out of sheer stubbornness. I don't like fics where either of them end up cheating on each other because I think it would be unlikely IRL, so I'm trying to bring about a natural end to the relationship.**

 **Please review! Let me know what you think! I love hearing from you guys :)**

 **~Alycat**


	5. Chapter 4: Shattering Loneliness

**Sorry it's late! Please review~~~**

 **CHAPTER FOUR/SHATTERING LONELINESS/23 AUGUST 2008**

Hermione could hear the bathroom taps dripping. That was one of the 'quirks' of the flat she had rented above one of the shops in Diagon Alley. Along with a bedroom door that needed a firm tug to open, and kitchen cabinets complete with mouse droppings.

"Sorry, Harry, could you repeat that?"

"The investigation is stalled."

Hermione rubbed her temples, "I'm certain something's been missed. There's no way a Quintaped ended up in Muggle London, partially mauled a man to death, leaving his wife alive and untouched, and then disappeared, without interference from a witch or wizard."

Harry nodded in agreement, and slid the days paper across the table, "Janus Belby at the Daily Prophet agrees."

 **MINISTRY INVESTIGATION HALTED, MICHAEL BROADMOOR'S DEATH REMAINS A MYSTERY** the title proclaimed.

 _Mr Michael Broadmoor of the Department of Magical Transport was killed nearly three weeks ago, but a source close to the deceased says investigations are no closer to catching the killer. The current working theory of the Auror and MLE department claims the deceased was killed by a rogue Quintaped. The fact that the creature seems to have disappeared entirely, and that there was a body left at all contradicts this._

 _Callie Broadmoor, wife of the deceased, was left untouched by a notoriously violent Dark Creature while lying in bed beside the victim. "I woke up, and my husband's head had been ripped off." Mrs Broadmoor claims, "The current investigations are not good enough."_

 _For more on the current investigation, turn to page 4._

"The Auror Department is catching flack, but the Coroner still thinks it is just a creature attack."

"The Coroner is an idiot."

Harry rolled his eyes, but didn't disagree, "I have a kid-free dinner planned with Gin. Are you okay if I leave you?"

She waved him away impatiently, "Harry I told you I'm fine. A little loneliness isn't going to kill me. In fact, it's good for me to be alone."

Harry looked unconvinced but took a handful of Floo Powder anyway. "Number 12, Grimmauld Place."

Hermione sighed, and folded up the paper. Truthfully, she was enjoying being alone, even though it was lonely. More than she had expected, in fact, and she was a little guilty of the reality. She hadn't quite settled on how she felt about the seemingly inevitable death of her years-long relationship, or whether she should fight for it; whether she even wanted to fight for it.

The death of Michael Broadmoor was weighing on her, she felt responsible somehow, and she was giving herself a migraine trying to see what the investigation was missing.

 _Sigh,_ for the third time that hour. _Drip,_ the damn bathroom taps again.

"Okay," she said out loud, "Clearly I'm going fucking crazy."

Unsurprisingly, no one answered. She picked up her purse and pulled on her coat, resolving to drop into Flourish and Blotts to get a new book on Dark Creatures before she was _actually_ certifiable.

Except she stepped out onto the cobblestones and was almost mowed down by a tiny crying child who was running down the street unsupervised.

"Are you okay?" She crouched to meet the eyes of the little boy, and realised with a jolt that it was Scorpius Malfoy.

He screwed his face up and shook his head, wailing. "Dada, dada, dada."

"Okay... not okay," Hermione muttered to herself, then said a little louder, "Scorpy, my name is Healer Weasley. Do you remember me?"

His wails quieted to sobs, and he nodded his head.

"Have you lost your dad?"

Scorpius nodded.

"Well it's okay. You've found me, and I can help you find your Dad, okay?"

He nodded again, bottom lip still quivering. Hermione held out her hand, and he took it hesitantly.

"We're going to go upstairs to my flat, and I'll send an owl to Malf- your Dad. I'm going to pick you up."

He nodded one last time, tears now dried, and she picked him up to perch on her hip, opening the door she'd just closed with her spare hand.

Once they were upstairs, she sat Scorpius at the kitchen table with a cup of water and a biscuit and took out a quill and parchment pad.

 _Malfoy,_

 _I found Scorpius running around upset in Diagon Alley. I assume he's lost you – I will take him to Fortescues for some ice-cream, please meet us there._

 _HG_

The parchment was rolled up, and she gave the missive to her Tawny owl, Edgar.

"Find Draco Malfoy, it's urgent."

Edgar gave a doleful hoot, unhappy with being awoken, but ever the obedient post owl, and took flight out of the kitchen window.

Hermione sat down across from Scorpius at the table, and marvelled at the difference between the blonde-haired cherub across from her now and the dark-haired, scruffy war hero that had sat there an hour ago.

Scorpius finished his biscuit, turned to Hermione and said, "Find Dada?"

"Let's go for ice-cream Scorpy, your dad will meet us there." He nodded enthusiastically, his earlier distress now forgotten. Hermione couldn't suppress her smile.

* * *

Draco had turned around for approximately 3 seconds and in that time managed to entirely lose track of his son. Which wouldn't worry him normally, but he'd been searching for 15 minutes already without a sign of him and he _may_ have been starting to panic now.

"Excuse me," He stopped a passer-by, "Have you seen a small boy, blonde hair like mine?"

Her eyes widened as she recognised him and she took a step back, "Uh, yes Mr Malfoy. He was with a lady, that way." She pointed down the thoroughfare toward Knockturn Alley.

"Fuck. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK."_ He cursed, and the woman he had stopped scuttled out of his path, alarmed, as he stormed towards the mouth of the alley.

Swooping in from seemingly nowhere, an owl he didn't recognise (rather delicately for its size) landed on his shoulder and held its leg out, a memo attached.

He scanned it quickly, let out a whoop of relief (much to the bemusement of bystanders), and sped towards ice-cream parlour.

Granger was sat out the front across from his son, who was tackling an ice-cream sundae bigger than his head. She was watching him with a peculiar look on her face.

"Scorp!" He gasped out, and his son whipped around and grinned.

"Daddy!" He launched himself at his father, and Draco caught him with scarcely concealed euphoric relief.

Granger stood up, in the background for a moment, but then Draco placed Scorp back to the side and swooped Granger into a grateful hug.

* * *

Hermione froze, for a moment, before bringing her hands slowly upwards to pat Malfoy awkwardly on the back. She noted in some recess of her mind that it was almost nice, a gesture of physical affection that had been missing from her relationship with Ron for so long.

Then she became suddenly aware that she was in public being embraced by not only a man who wasn't her husband, but a man who was bitter enemies with said husband. Neither of them noticed a young woman with a camera standing across the street, taking in the scene with glee.

"Ah..." She cleared her throat, and Malfoy stepped back, keeping a hold of her shoulders.

"Thank you so much. You have no idea how relieved I am." His eyes were shining with what Hermione suspected was barely contained tears of utter relief.

"It's, uh, no problem." She looked at her feet (or tried to), suddenly shy, "If it was my daughter I would hope someone would do the same." Her hands drifted to her belly.

"Let me buy you a coffee, or lunch, or something," Malfoy implored, and Hermione was about to decline when she caught the loneliness in his expression that she was sure was mirrored in her own.

"Okay." She said, and Malfoy looked surprised by her easy acceptance.

"Oh. I was working myself up to convince you."

She laughed, "Lead the way Malfoy."

Scorpius slipped one of his small hands into hers, and the other into his fathers', and tugged them towards the entrance to Muggle London. To her surprise, Malfoy smiled indulgently and let him pull them to the Leaky Cauldron.

The patrons of the bar eyed them curiously as they passed through, and Hannah Abbott gave Hermione a cheery wave even as she double-took the sight of her walking beside Draco Malfoy towards Muggle London.

"Uh." Malfoy ran his hand through his hair, "What kind of food do you like?"

Hermione's mouth quirked into a smile, "I'm good with whatever."

He huffed, "That's hardly a helpful answer, Granger."

She opened her mouth to correct him, _'it's Weasley',_ as she'd been doing for years, but then snapped her mouth shut again.

He examined her with a sidelong glance, and watched the indecision play out on her face, "McDonalds then?"

" _You_ know what McDonalds is?" She asked, incredulously, and he was about to answer, indignant, when Scorp interjected with an excited squawk.

"Yes Dada, McDonels!"

Malfoy decided against answering in favour of waving a vague hand over his son in explanation. Her mouth quirked again in understanding.

"Alright Scorpy, McDonalds it is." She said, and then repeated her earlier statement, "Lead the way, Malfoy."

"Leicester Square?" He offered his arm, and she raised an eyebrow at him, "I'm Apparating, Granger."

She took his arm, a firm grip on Scorpius, and with a loud crack, they Disapparated. They reappeared in a narrow alleyway and emerged into the midmorning sunshine.

"You seem awfully comfortable in Muggle London these days, Malfoy." She commented lightly.

"Yeah, well, I want to raise Scorp right." He seemed suddenly bashful, "Don't want him to need a war to see Muggles and Muggleborns as human."

She eyed him curiously, but he refused to meet her gaze even as he ordered from the counter and paid in Muggle currency for all of their meals.

"Malfoy-"

"Please call me Draco."

"Draco," Merlin that felt odd on her tongue, "Do you bring Scorpius into Muggle London?"

"I try to," He still refused to look at her, "At least once a week."

Hermione was gobsmacked. It was unfair, given that she hadn't seen him since they left Hogwarts, and even prior to that she'd never spoken to him following Voldemort's' downfall, but she'd assumed he still clung to his antiquated views on blood purity.

The knowledge that he brought his son _regularly_ into Muggle London was not only a revelation to her, but also allowed for a heavy parcel of guilt in her conscience. Part of her job required her to be impartial to preconceived notions, and she felt as though she had failed herself by not giving Malfoy the benefit of the doubt.

"How is Astoria?" She asked, choosing to change the subject, and he looked relieved.

"Some days are better than others. She's got a good bunch of elves looking after her at the Manor though."

"Oh, she still lives with you?" Hermione couldn't help feeling a little guilty thinking of her own flat, away from her husband.

"At the Manor, yes. I have my own flat in Diagon Alley where I spend half the week, because it's near to the Apothecary."

"Ah, I see."

They lapsed into silence for a couple of beats, and Hermione took a moment to appreciate the sight of Draco Malfoy eating a cheeseburger and fries in a fast food restaurant in Muggle London. If someone had told her that this would happen a week ago, she probably would have had them committed.

"My flat is near Flourish and Blotts."

He snorted, "Trust you to live near a book shop. Just a flat? I thought you and Weasel had a kid?"

"I'm not living with Ron right now," she admitted quietly, "It's just me."

She had no earthly idea why she was telling him this. His expression didn't give anything away except for a calculative gaze, which was almost worse than the pity she'd been expecting.

"I don't know why I'm telling you this. I'm sorry. I admire your relationship with your ex-wife." The words tumbled from her mouth, each of them nipping at the heels of the one prior. She stood in a hurry, "Bye Scorpy, see you again something. Thanks for lunch, Malf- Draco."

She turned on her heel and fled, leaving Draco and Scorpius alone and perplexed.

* * *

Hermione woke the next morning at 7am. No alarm had sounded, so for a moment she wasn't sure what had woken her. But then a beating on her door recommenced, and she rolled out of bed and pulled a jumper on to stumble to the front door.

Harry was at her door, fully dressed in his Auror robes. Hermione gripped her wand tighter on instinct.

"Harry. What's wrong?"

"Have you got plans today?"

"None so far, though I suspect you're about to make some for me." She replied warily, and he grinned.

"You know how you love doing autopsies?"

She scoffed but didn't disagree, waving her hand for him to continue.

"Kingsley wants a second opinion on the Broadmoor case, and the Consultancy is being brought in."

Her face lit up, "Fucking _finally._ Let me get dressed, you know where the coffee is. Make me one too."

She'd disappeared around the corner at this point but stuck her head back around to add 'please' to her request.

15 minutes later, showered and dressed, she met Harry in the kitchen.

"Alright, what do I need to know?"

"The Coroner is a bloke called Landon Crabbe, and he's a real piece of work. It's probably best not engage with him, it's not productive."

"Right. And the current autopsy results?" Harry slid a slim folder towards her, and she opened and read the three pages contained, "God this is rubbish."

Harry hummed in agreement, and stood up, "Shall we go?"

Hermione also stood, finishing off her coffee and grabbing her coat, "Alright, let's go."

Harry took her arm and turned heel with a crack. They reappeared inside Kingsley's office, who seemed entirely unsurprised to see two thirds of the Golden Trio appear in his office before 8am on a Sunday.

"Ms Granger." He greeted her with a nod, and Hermione found herself resisting the impulse to correct him to Weasley, the second time in 24 hours.

"Minister Shacklebolt," she greeted him in return, and he gave a rumbling laugh.

"Allow me to escort you to the labs."

The halls were empty and echoed with each step the three took. The labs were at the opposite end of the 2nd floor, and when they arrived, Kingsley rapped sharply on the iron door.

The distinct sound of locks scraping against metal was heard, and then the door swung inward to admit them to the chilly and clinical rooms.

Landon Crabbe was a short man, standing only an inch or two taller than Hermione, with a permanent sneer marring his otherwise inoffensive features. He was also younger than she had expected, only 23 or thereabouts.

"Hermione Weasley." She offered her hand, and he shook it with barely contained hostility.

"A pleasure, I'm sure." He sneered, making it clear that he thought it was anything but, "You can leave us now, Minister."

Hermione's jaw almost dropped at the audacity, and she caught Harry's eye. Harry looked utterly unsurprised by Crabbe's conduct.

"As charming as this has been, I'm here to examine Michael Broadmoor's body." She adopted a business-like tone, and Crabbe shot her a look of deep loathing before leading her over to a table with a body covered by a light sheet.

Hermione cleared the bench next to the table with a wave of her wand and unpacked her examination tools. Her expression didn't change as she peeled back the sheet, but Harry paled.

The body was under a stasis charm, which Hermione was rather grateful for, because it could be smelly without it.

His head was separated from his body, seemingly ripped clean off in a terrifying show of brute strength. Bruising mottled his chest and arms, his throat was savaged, but everything from the waist down was curiously untouched.

"Crabbe, put your gear on, I'm going to need your assistance."

He glowered resentfully, but obeyed her command, pulling on rubber gloves and a mask. Hermione set a modified Quick Quotes quill on the work bench with a long roll of parchment.

"The secondary autopsy of Mr Michael Broadmoor, twenty fourth of August two thousand and eight, 8.03am." As she spoke the Quill scurried across the page, committing her words into ink.

" _Egritu."_ She spoke the diagnosis spell, and the results appeared in glowing green in front of her, "Forty-six-year-old male, height 5-foot-9, weight 78-kilograms. In good health, with history of incidences of tachycardia. No detected diseases."

She dismissed the results with another wave of her wand and indicated that Crabbe should pass over her tools. He did so with a sneer, that she seemingly ignored and took the magnifier from him.

"The head is entirely separated from the neck, diastasis caused by physical rending rather than use of a tool. Brainstem is snapped at the base off the head."

She moved on.

"Teeth marks easily visible on throat, a good portion of the throat has been torn out leaving larynx and trachea exposed," She looked closer still, indicating for Crabbe to bring the bright light over, "Oh. The bite marks are uneven. Consistent with a combination of incisors, molars, and abnormally large canines. Oh. OH!"

Her head shot up from the exposed throat of Michael Broadmoor, and she made eye contact with Harry.

"This isn't a Quintaped at all- sorry Crabbe-, it's a partially transformed werewolf."

Crabbe scoffed, "That is _utterly preposterous._ Why, werewolves can't partially transform, that's ridi-"

"Fenrir Greyback could." Harry said quietly, "Who's to say another didn't learn how?"

Hermione cursed, loudly, and both men looked at her alarmed.

"This is the _last fucking thing we need. Fuck._ " Her hair grew bigger and crackled, and Crabbe looked increasingly concerned, shooting glances at the Boy Who Lived.

She snatched up the autopsy notes, skimming them rapidly, and then wandlessly tasked the Quill with sketching the bite marks. She took a camera from her case and carefully took a few close-up photos of the marks in question.

" _You."_ She hissed, swinging around to face Crabbe, "You complete, utter _addlepate._ You're a poor excuse for a physician. Have you been drinking Doxy venom for breakfast for breakfast every morning? _"_

Landon Crabbe looked as though he was seriously considering cowering behind Harry and let out a squeak of fear.

"Hermione-" Harry started, and she silenced him with a flick of her hand.

"Oh no you don't Harry James Potter. This _imbecile_ has held up an investigation for _weeks_ because he can't see the difference between an incisor and a canine. Did you get your Healing License at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes? Did you mail-order it perhaps?"

Crabbe shook his head, half way between indignation and terror.

" _Averti."_ Hermione cast a spell on the report and it shimmered out of view, "We need to tell Kingsley and figure out a way to release this to the public without inciting hate crimes. You too Crabbe."

Crabbe, who had been trying to inch out of the door, looked dismayed. Hermione swept out of the room and Harry indicated for Crabbe to leave first.

"I'm not letting you get away Crabbe, she'll have my bollocks on a plate." Harry looked almost sorry, and Crabbe looked like he almost understood, as they both followed Hermione towards the Minister's office.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

 **Hi Everyone! Phew. This one took a while and had a lot happen. I'll get back to relationship stuff next chapter, but this had a focus on advancing the plot re. the whole murder thing. I hope you like reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it - scary, smart but sexy Hermione is my favourite type.**

 **Please read and review ## I'll see y'all next week.**

 **~Alycat**


	6. Chapter 5: End of an Era

**PLEASE READ AND REVIEW.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 5/END OF AN ERA/24 AUGUST 2008**

* * *

 **AN UNTOLD STORY; GOLDEN GIRL AND EX-DEATH EATER LOVE AFFAIR?** Story by Greer Davies

 _What have they been hiding from us? Hermione Weasley, Golden Girl of the Golden Trio and former Death Eater, current eligible bachelor Draco Malfoy were witnessed passionately embracing in Diagon Alley. Malfoy's only son, Scorpius Malfoy, was witnessed snacking with Mrs Weasley at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. Mr Fortescue said of the unusual patrons, "Bugger off, my patrons are none of your business."._

 _Sources say that Mrs Weasley, currently six months pregnant with her second child to Ron Weasley, has recently separated from her husband. The two have been married eight years and together ten, but friends confirm the couple have been on the rocks for some time now. The writer can't help but wonder if the enigmatic Mr Malfoy is the reason for our Golden Couple's shocking separation..._

 _For more on Hermione Weasley's role in the defeat of You-Know-Who, turn to page 5..._

* * *

"Kingsley," Hermione Weasley, nèe Granger beat on the closed door of the Minister's office, "We have a big problem, and also you need to stop me from disembowling a Ministry employee."

The door swung inwards, revealing Kingsley, along with Arnold Peasegood, head of the Obliviators.

Hermione's face coloured slightly, and Kingsley treated her to a genial smile.

"Good morning Ms Granger. I take it my decision to bring you on board has been rewarded?"

Hermione waved him off, "I've finished up with the task yes." She looked pointedly towards Peasegood, who started under her gaze. Kingsley muttered a dismissal, and Peasegood scuttled out of the office, passing Crabbe and Harry as they entered.

Harry closed the door behind him, as Hermione flopped into one of the deceivingly comfortable chairs opposite Kingsley, a contemplative expression marring her features. Kingsley raised an eyebrow at Harry, who shrugged.

"The bite marks on Broadmoor's throat are that of a partially transformed werewolf."

Crabbe, apparently unable to resist poking the bear, snorted at this assertion, and Hermione shot him a glare.

"Your employee," a pointed scowl, "failed to correctly identify the teeth marks left on the victim."

"Your _contractor,"_ interjected Crabbe, with not a small amount of derision, "has come in and made _utterly baseless_ claims of a preposterous nature. I demand she be taken off the case. She is not needed, and _quite clearly_ insane."

Hermione thought, in passing, that Landon Crabbe had a considerably larger vocabulary than the relative they had gone to school with. Then she winced, remembering the howl of terror Vincent Crabbe had let out while he was consumed by his own Fiendfyre.

Shaking herself from her thoughts, she _finite-ed_ the Privacy Charm from the report and handed it to Kingsley. It was several pages longer that Crabbe's initial report.

Kingsley read in silence. As the seconds ticked by, Crabbe became increasingly uncomfortable, shuffling on the spot. When Kingsley had finished, he pinned Crabbe with a calculating gaze.

"Mr Crabbe, please explain to me how Ms Granger could uncover this in a 30-minute secondary autopsy when you have seemingly missed it for three weeks?"

His protests died on his lips, "Er... I... Minister..."

Kingsley ignored him, apparently not wanting an answer, and set his attention back on Hermione and Harry, "Ms Granger, excellent work as always. Please invoice the DMLE for your time, although I am sure you will be called on again. Mr Potter, please go by procedure with the new information."

Harry nodded smartly and retreated, and Kingsley turned back to Crabbe, clearly dismissing her.

She rubbed her eyes. Maybe she'd go back to bed for a couple of hours.

* * *

Ron had worked a lot on his temper since leaving Hogwarts – it was necessary to succeed in the workplace, and Godric knows Hermione wouldn't put up with it around Rose.

Still, his eye twitched involuntarily with suppressed rage watching the looping photograph of Malfoy gathering his wife in his arms. He wasn't one to take the Daily Prophet at face value, but he also wasn't sure what earthly reason Malfoy would have for embracing Hermione with such apparent fervour.

Hermione hadn't specified whether their break would include seeing other people.

Maybe she _had_ found something with Malfoy. He was smart, Ron would begrudgingly give him that, and Ron, for all his strategizing genius and charms talent in the Joke Shoppe, was not Hermione's intellectual equal.

 _No. NO._ He wouldn't give up on an eight-year marriage because of his own insecurities, it had caused enough issues without that.

 _H,_

 _Meet me for dinner?_

 _Ron_

* * *

Hermione could confidently say she was rarely nervous to see her own husband, but here she was. Standing in front of her small, probably understocked, wardrobe, contemplating whether to dress for dinner like it was a business meeting or a date.

Because, to be honest, she wasn't sure what she wanted the outcome of this dinner to be.

Would they emerge victorious, having braved the rough stint in their marriage and won? Would they crawl, broken hearted away from each other and tuck themselves into bed with tear stained cheeks? Or, more likely, would they leave the table, friends and nothing more?

She chose business meeting.

Ron was cooking, which was unusual, even more unusual that he hadn't yet burnt anything.

"Good evening," Hermione hung her coat and bag up on the coat rack, and watching Ron take the vegetables off the stove. Evidence of his Muggle vegetable chopping was on the bench. "What's to eat?"

"There's roast chicken in the oven," Ron replied, "Rose is with Mum."

He handed her a glass of water without her asking, and she took a sip. There was an awful lot of silence. Awkward silence.

Eventually, Ron served the food, and they sat opposite each other.

"How has Rose been with you?" Asked Hermione.

"She's okay. You're better at convincing her to eat broccoli. How's work?"

"Good, I've been working the Broadmoor case with Harry."

"Ah." They lapsed into silence again, and Hermione chewed on a bean. Not sharing a life left them with surprisingly little to talk about.

"Hermi-"

"Ron-"

They spoke at the same time, and Hermione indicated for Ron to continue.

"So I've been thinking. I am lonely."

Hermione made to talk, and Ron silenced her with a look.

"I'm lonely, but I don't know if fixing our relationship is going to make me not lonely," He leaned his face into his hand for a moment, examining her, "I don't think we have a relationship that gives me what I need from a marriage."

She looked relieved, "Oh. I think so too, thank Merlin."

Ron couldn't help the tiny expression of hurt that crossed his features, and Hermione noticed.

"Not like that. Okay, maybe a little like that. What I mean is, I don't know if I _can_ be happy being married to you. We fight, we clash, we can't relate, living together has us at each other's throats. We spend so much time fighting and being unhappy that there's no room left for passion or love."

Ron nodded in agreement, "To be honest... I think we've been trying to make it work for so long because we didn't want to disappoint anyone."

"So," Hermione took his hand from across the table, "Should we separate? Permanently?"

He screwed his eyes shut, let out his breath in a whoosh of air, and nodded.

Hermione felt the cloud that had been looming over them dissipate. She took a sip from her glass.

"I don't like you seeing Malfoy though."

Hermione sprayed water over the table in front of her.

"WHAT?!"

Ron wiped his hand over a damp eyebrow and raised said eyebrow. He then reached over to the bench and placed a copy of the Daily Prophet in front of her.

Hermione blanched.

"This isn't- that wasn't-"

"Hermione, I don't mind if you're seeing other people. Really, I don't. But _Malfoy?"_

 _"_ Ron, I-"

"He may have defected in the end, but he's still a slimy git who tormented you for _years-"_

 _"_ RON."

He stopped, finally.

"Oh my god, Ronald," Her cheeks were glowing, "Malfoy and I have a client relationship _only."_

"Oh," He said, "Then, what...?"

"I ran into Scorpius in the Alley, he was lost. So I owled Malfoy and met him with Scorp. He hugged me because he was grateful to have found his son."

He looked chagrined, "Oops."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "I never said we would see other people while we took a break."

"I know you never said that... but I thought... I saw-"

"You saw the Daily Rag and for some reason took it seriously."

"Well," He looked at his hands, "I guess I kind of wanted someone to blame. I know we've kind of just grown apart, but it might be easier... if there was someone else."

If Hermione was surprised by his sudden emotional insight, she didn't show it. She reached across the table and took his hand again.

"It's no one's fault," She said, gently, "It's like you said, we just grew apart. No one can stop that."

"I want to formally resign from the Consultancy."

That hadn't been what she was expecting, " _What?"_

"Well, I can do Wheezes work from home most of the time... If I stay home with Rose, and the new one," indicating to her swelling stomach, "I can't be working two jobs."

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, "You would do that?"

He sighed, "I can't let you give up on the Consultancy, it's something you've worked for for so long."

Hermione nodded.

"I've been thinking about it for the last couple of weeks. I figure, while I have something I can work on at home, I might as well stay home with the kids. At least until they're Hogwarts age."

Hermione's eyes shimmered, suspiciously watery, and Ron looked uncomfortable.

"Okay," she agreed, not paying heed to the emotion in the decision, "Until Hogwarts age then."

"We should-"

"I think-"

Ron indicated for Hermione to continue.

"We should - ugh I hate to say it, but we should release a joint statement to the press. It's going to get a lot of attention and I want to control the narrative."

"I agree. I don't think anyone in the family is going to be surprised, but we should also inform them ahead of time."

She nodded in agreement; everyone, including Rose, had been sat down and talked to when they had first decided to separate. Ginny and Harry had been completely unsurprised, Molly and Arthur disappointed, and Rose not entirely sure what was going on.

"Let me know if you _do_ decide to bed the Amazing Bouncing Ferret though," Ron snickered.

"RONALD."

* * *

 **/Staggers to the finish line, hands over chapter, and collapses/**

 **Thanks everyone! I've been sick and really busy and work so this one is a bit shorter and later than usual. But still! Lots happened, Ron is officially out of the picture romance-wise, and we've got a bit more on Mr Broadmoor and Landon Crabbe. The first inkling of Dramione-pairing dropped into a newspaper article, the next chapter will deal with the fall out for Draco.**

 **As always, please READ AND REVIEW. Tell me what you like! Special shout out to Honoria Granger for fixing up an error in the previous chapter, and for the three reviews they've left already!**

 **~Alycat**


	7. Chapter 6: Eye of the Storm

**Please read and review!**

 **CHAPTER 6/EYE OF THE STORM/26 AUGUST 2008**

Draco awoke with the distinct, unsettling feeling he was being watched. He scanned his bed chambers and almost jumped out of his skin when he met Theo's gaze.

"Mother of Merlin, Theo, what the fuck are you doing?" he hissed.

"A question better asked of yourself, if you ask me," Theo's voice was mirthful, "Canoodling with our resident Gryffindor poodle, what's next? Going blind and _borrowing_ St Potty's glasses?"

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about," Draco grumbled, making to turn over and go back to sleep, "It's too early for shenanigans, Nott, go away."

"Too early? Draco, it's 11am."

That got his attention. He sat bolt upright, cursing.

Theo took a step back, arms raised in surrender. He noticed he was holding a copy of the Daily Prophet in one hand, and the covering photo had glimpses of the distinct Malfoy hair.

"Wait, give me that." He snatched it from Theo when he offered it tentatively, read the cover story, and promptly burst out laughing.

"So you're not upset?" Theo eyed him, and Draco wiped a tear of mirth from his eye.

"Merlin and Morgana, I needed a laugh. Thanks Nott."

Nott raised an eyebrow. Draco examined the photo more closely, his cheeks colouring as he watched the sheer emotion play over his face. He was certainly not, as the headline claimed, conducting a sordid affair with Granger, but he didn't like the emotional display printed on the front page of the national paper.

"When did you start calling her a poodle and _why?_ "

Theo laughed, " _That's_ what you take issue with? Have you seen her hair? Poodle, all the way. And she's cute – extra poodle-y."

"Keep it in your pants, Nott." He rolled his eyes, and then rolled out of bed and padded over to his wardrobe.

"Afraid I'm going to encroach on your steamy love-affair?"

Draco scoffed, "Hardly. I lost Scorpius in Diagon Alley and she found him and met with me to return him."

"And you all just happened to walk to the same Muggle fast food chain in London?" he asked slyly. Draco shot him a warning look.

"Just a thank you lunch, Theo. Stop trying to make something out of nothing."

"I know what you must be thinking-"

"-I assure you I'm not."

"How did I, Theo Nott, pureblood heir-"

"Oh shove off, Theo, honestly-"

"Spot you, Draco Malfoy, notorious anti-Lion, with your Gryffindor poodle-"

"-Eating lunch like two civil adults?"

"-in Muggle London, of all places," he continued as though Draco had not uttered a word, "In _McDonalds?_ Draco, I'm appalled, I thought you had better taste."

Draco rolled his eyes again. He'd long since learned that Theo responded most eagerly to denial and could be shut down with silence.

 _Tap tap tap_

A large owl waited semi-patiently at the window, a bone and wand emblazoned across the navy seal.

 _Dear Mr Malfoy,_

 _Please be advised Healer Hermione Granger has contacted the Department of Spells, Curses, and Genetic Maladies, a subbranch of the Spell Damage wing, regarding your case._

 _Astoria Greengrass has allowed full disclosure from this point forward regarding Granger Consultancy investigating her illness._

 _No action is required by you at this time._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Priscilla Podmore, Medi-Witch assistant to Healer Alban Matthews_

Draco let out a satisfied huff, folding the letter and ignoring Theo's questioning expression. Another owl swooped in the already open window.

"Is this a bloody Owlery?" He grumbled, even as he recognised his mother's eagle owl. The short, elegantly lettered note invited him to lunch with her, and he scribbled his assent on the back and sent it on its way.

"Lunch with Mother?" He offered Theo, who nodded eagerly.

"I hope Tippy is cooking again, the Nott elves just don't do it quite like him."

"Theo, Tippy always cooks. I tried to make myself a sandwich one day and he almost beheaded me with a saucepan."

"To be fair, you probably deserved it."

" _What?_ Fine, see if I make you anything next time you're here and hungry."

"Pfft, I'll just ask Tippy, he _loves_ me."

* * *

"Draco," Narcissa rose from her seat and proffered a cheek for him to kiss, "And Theo, how lovely."

Narcissa Malfoy was a beautiful woman, sharp angles and aloofness aside. She was also a tired, broken one.

Lucius's imprisonment and Draco's concurrent absence from the family home in the year following the War had been hard on her, and she now stood frail with sunken cheekbones. Still, she beamed at him with genuine love and he couldn't help the easy smile that slipped onto his face in reply.

"Tippy," she called, and the wizened house elf in a crisp toga made from a silk pillowcase appeared with a crack, "We're ready to take tea. Theodore is here, as you see, so a little more than expected."

Narcissa looked apologetically at Tippy, but he was delighted, "Yes Mistress Cissy. Right away. Good afternoon Master Draco, Master Theodore." His nose scraped the floor as he bowed, and he disappeared with another crack.

"Hmm, so Draco," Narcissa put the teacup she had been drinking from to her lips, eyeing him critically, "Is it true was they say? Has my son bedded a Gryffindor? A Mud-"

"Mother," Draco said warningly.

"-gleborn of all people," Narcissa finished, "Pardon me, I still slip up. But Miss Granger, of all the options available to you?"

"Weasley," He corrected, almost unconsciously, "She's still married, mother, and the paper is making a mountain out of a niffler hill."

"Pray tell, what misunderstanding had you embracing Miss Granger in the middle of Diagon Alley?"

"I've been meeting with her in her professional capacity," he replied stiffly, "So she recognised Scorpius when she found him wandering lost in the Alley and was able to return him to me. Much to my, as you can see, obvious gratitude."

"What business do you have with Granger?" asked Theo, genuinely curious.

"She's taking Astoria's case." Draco scuffed his shoe on the shiny marble of the tea room, and Narcissa let out a sniff.

"Will you and Miss Greengrass resume your marital obligations once a cure has been found?"

"No, Mother, we've already been through this." He sighed, and Narcissa, very un-ladylike, rolled her eyes.

"I just want you to b-"

"Be happy, yes I _know_ Mother. Maybe you should have thought of that before you contracted me into an arranged marriage."

Hurt crossed her features. "Draco, I-"

He sighed again, "I'm sorry Mother. The press is getting to me and I'm worried about Astoria. That was rude of me."

He sat in the chair facing her, and poured himself a cup of tea, adding honey and a dash of milk. He took a sip, and immediately calmed. Stereotypically British as it were, he did love a good cup of tea.

"Granger is a Healer who takes on special cases through her Consultancy business." He explained, "I've hired her to take on Astoria's case, she thinks it's likely a genetic curse."

"There are a number of books in the library pertaining to Pureblood curses," offered Narcissa, "They may be of use to you and Miss Granger."

Draco took that as a peace offering, nodded, and took another sip of tea.

The remainder of the meal steered clear of the topic.

"Well, Mother, it was lovely to see you." Draco rose, kissing his mother's cheek, "I have an appointment I must attend."

He nodded to Theo, who also stood to leave.

"Look after yourself Draco, please." Narcissa looked exhausted and tiny, sitting in the vast tea room that sat within the vast Manor. Draco's eyes softened.

"I'll come visit soon, Mum." He used the informal title he hadn't used regularly since he was a boy.

Theo followed him out of the room, "Do you really have an appointment or are you just making excuses?"

"I do, Theo. I'm seeing Granger about the case," He rubbed his hand across his eyes, suddenly exhausted, "You can see yourself out?"

Theo nodded affirmative, taking a handful of Floo Powder and shouting, "Nott Manor."

Draco did the same, stating, "Granger Consultancy."

* * *

"Healer W- Granger, your 1.30pm client is here."

"Thank you, Isabel, send them through."

She continued scribbling on a piece of parchment, notes on the Broadmoor case now that she had all the files.

There was a polite knock on the door, and Hermione looked up to find Malfoy (Draco, she mentally corrected herself) leaning on the door frame casually.

"Come in, hi, Draco. Just a moment." She finished her sentence, dotting it with a flourish, and placed it to the side.

"That's quite a cold greeting for a man you're conducting a sordid affair with." Draco commented, and Hermione couldn't stop herself snorting.

"Beg your pardon, what I meant to say was _Oh Draco, please come in, close the door and remove your clothes."_

Draco sniggered, "Davies probably thinks she has the story of the year there."

"Oh, absolutely. A real scoop."

"Never truer." He quipped.

There was a beat of silence before she caught his eye. She tried to swallow the quirk of her lips, unsuccessfully, and his eyes shimmered with mirth, before they both promptly burst into peals of laughter.

" _Passionately embracing,"_ howled Hermione, holding her stomach as she laughed.

"Fortescue's _quote,"_ choked Draco, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, " _Bugger off,_ he says."

The next few minutes were spent trying to get their laughter under control. They would almost have it, and then accidentally catch sight of the other and go off all over again.

"Okay," Hermione said, flustered but mostly under control, "I have an idea about your case."

Draco's face was pink from the laughter, and his eyes were sparkling, even as his expression turned business-like.

Hermione cast an appraising eye over him, allowing herself to acknowledge his attractiveness. _The Daily Prophet would have a field day with my thoughts_ , she thought wryly.

"Excellent. Astoria isn't worsening on Muggle blood thinners, but she isn't improving either, so I'd like to make some headway."

"I'm glad she's not worsening. I have an idea, it's another Muggle-based treatment called a blood transfusion."

Draco leaned forward, eager.

"So, all humans have a blood type. I won't go into details, it took me a couple of months of university level biology to understand the intricacies," Draco nodded, and she continued, "This means it is possible for us to replace the blood of someone who is sick with donated blood that is healthy, as long as the donated blood is the same "type" as the patient."

Draco's brow furrowed, and Hermione resisted the urge to lean across the desk and smooth it with her hand.

"Muggles can't replace the entirety of the blood in a patient, because they don't have the ability to keep a human alive through it. But we can, because we have stasis charms and sanguis charms."

"So, if the curse is in her blood-"

"-we can potentially-"

"-replace the cursed blood-"

"-with healthy donor blood and-"

"-that could cure her. Granger, you're a genius, I could _kiss_ you."

"What would the Daily Prophet make of that?"

He snorted again, "They would have a field day."

"You see Astoria often, don't you?"

"Yes, every other day."

"Why did you divorce?" she blurted out, then clapped a hand over her mouth with a horrified squeak, "Oh Godric, I'm sorry. Ignore that."

"No, it's okay," He laughed, "Actually, it's because she didn't want me bound to her when-if- she dies. Our marriage was arranged."

Hermione nodded.

"What did Weasel think of the article?"

Hermione blushed a deep shade of pink, "Asked for details."

"Ha!"

"Actually, it kind of made us both realise that we were clinging onto a relationship because we were stubborn."

"How-"

"Not because we're actually... having an affair." she blushed again, "It just made us both realise we were lonely and not fulfilled – he was honest Merlin ready to accept our "affair" if it was making me happy."

"So you-"

"We've separated for good, yeah."

"Are you okay?"

Startled, Hermione looked up from her lap where she had been twining her fingers together. He looked sincere.

"Actually, yes. It's quite a relief." she admitted, "God, we were so stubborn for so long that it's actually a relief to admit it wasn't as easy as we'd made out, and that we aren't happy anymore."

"Then I won't feel guilty about asking you to dinner next week."

"What?" Her eyes flew to meet his, and he looked nervous.

"Only if you want to, of course," he assured, scratching the back of his neck and scuffing his shoe on the carpet, an infuriatingly picturesque scene of bashfulness.

"I want to," she surprised even herself with the sincerity of her answer, "You can owl me details? My next appointment will be here soon."

"Of course."

"Bring Astoria to our next appointment, we can discuss our plan."

Draco nodded, a smile on his lips. He turned, and opened the door, and found Harry Potter on the other side of it, his hand raised as though to knock.

"Malfoy," Potter spoke, paling considerably, "Hermione. I need to speak to both of you."

"Harry," Hermione looked worried, "What's wrong?"

He gave a pained look towards Malfoy, and swallowed.

"There's been another murder. Same MO. Looks like the same perp."

"Why do you need to speak to me?" pressed Draco, his skin losing its colour, "Who was it, Potter?"

"I'm very sorry, Malfoy. We were alerted to a situation at Malfoy Manor about 20 minutes ago. A house elf led us to Narcissa Malfoy's body."

* * *

 **AUTHORS NOTE: I'm so sorry this took so long. It took me a while to get the dialogue where I wanted it to be, but I'm really really happy with the chapter.**

 **Please read and review! Can't wait to hear what you think!**

 **~Alycat**


	8. Chapter 7: The Flower Wilts

**CHAPTER 7/THE FLOWER WILTS/26 AUGUST 2008**

"What?" asked Draco, faintly.

"I'm so sorry Malfoy," Harry repeated, "We found your mother's body. It's linked to the Broadmoor case, we think."

Draco stumbled back and sat heavily in the chair he'd just vacated. His head dropped into his hands and he let out a dry sob.

"The same marks?" asked Hermione quietly, aside.

"They look like it. You'll have to do an autopsy to confirm, but they look the same. It was brutal, Mione. It's different seeing someone you know."

Hermione nodded sympathetically.

"Do you need Draco to formally identify her?"

Harry inclined his head in confirmation.

"Draco," Hermione dropped down to be level with him, "We need to take you identify the body. We can do it another day if you don't think you can today."

Draco looked up, eyes red rimmed but dry, "No. Let's get it over and done with." He reached forward to grasp her arm, "Will you stay with me? I... I don't have anyone I can call for."

Hermione nodded sharply and helped him to his feet.

"Harry let's go." She offered an arm and Disapparated when he took it.

* * *

They reappeared in an alley near the entrance to the Ministry. They hurried to the DMLE level, where Landon Crabbe was waiting outside the labs. Crabbe looked drawn and worried.

"Landon." Draco greeted him, holding out a hand and shaking his hand firmly.

"Draco," he returned, "I'm very sorry."

He unlocked the iron door, revealing the same foreboding room. He led them through to the first lab; a sterile table with a black body bag sat in the centre of the room.

Draco audibly swallowed.

Crabbe used his wand to unzip the bag and pull the fabric back to the body's torso. Hermione took a sharp intake of breath, and Draco sagged against her.

Narcissa's face was serene, as though she was sleeping. Her throat was ripped out, the same teeth marks along the gaping wound.

Draco's face greened and he looked as though he might be violently ill. Hermione gripped his arm.

"It's her."

Harry nodded grimly. "Can you verbally confirm her name?"

He breathed out sharply through his nostrils, "Narcissa Druella Malfoy, born Black."

"Sorry," Harry apologised, "It's standard procedure."

Draco nodded tightly.

"I need to ask you a few questions, if that's okay. My office is on this floor."

Draco nodded again, a quick bob. He followed Harry and Hermione out of the lab without a backward glance.

"Mr Malfoy," rumbled Kingsley, "I'm very sorry to hear about Narcissa. As this is a part of an ongoing investigation, I have to sit in on questionings."

"Okay."

Kingsley glanced at Hermione, curious, "We normally wouldn't have non-DMLE personnel in questionings."

Draco's hand found her upper arm and squeezed, "Please. I... I need the support."

Kingsley gave her an almost imperceptible searching glance, before inclining his head in agreement. "Very well."

"Can you walk us through your morning?" Harry asked, quill posed to take notes.

"I woke up at 11, Theo was in my room."

"Theo Nott?" He asked, and Draco nodded. He scribbled a note.

"I had a letter from St Mungos waiting, and a letter from my mother arrived shortly afterwards, inviting me to lunch. I invited Theo to join me."

"Did Theo act strangely at all today?"

"Theo? Merlin, no."

"Did anything strike you as unusual about your mother?"

"No, she was the same as usual. Harassed me about my marriage, joked about the paper." He caught Hermione's eye at this, and his lip twitched.

"Malfoy is there anyone you can think of that would wish harm on you or your family?"

"You're kidding right?" Draco snorted, "Every man and his Crup wanted me dead at some point. It's equally likely that it's some Light vigilante as it is to be someone Dark who's pissed off that I defected."

Harry sighed, "I know. I was hoping you might have an inkling. We've not got much to go off right now."

"What have you got?"

Harry eyed him warily, "It's a confidential case."

"For fuck sake, Potter, my mother just died. I want to help. I'll strangle the bastard myself."

"Er..."

"Oh, come on, Harry, just tell him." Hermione looked sympathetically over at him, her own face pale.

Harry sighed, "Fine. All we have on the last case is similar marks on the wound. Hermione identified them on the last victim as the bite marks of a partially transformed werewolf."

Draco gaped at him, "Partially transfo- is this Greyback? I'll kill him, I'll ki-"

Hermione silenced him with a firm hand on his shoulder, "Greyback is in Azkaban, Draco. We checked as soon as I identified the marks."

Draco let out an unintelligible snarl before collapsing into his chair again, chest heaving.

"We do suspect that it was an acquaintance or pack member of Greyback's. The partial transformation has previously only been seen by Greyback, so it's likely they knew each other well enough to share the unique ability."

"Who does the autopsies?"

A strange expression crossed Hermione's face at the Muggle expression, "The Ministry-"

"Landon Crabbe is one Quaffle short of a Quidditch game, so if you're about to tell me he's in charge of the investigation of the bodies, I swear to Circe I will take this all the way to the Wizengamot to have someone else put on the case."

Kingsley let out an undignified snort. Harry strangled a bark of laughter on its way up his throat.

"I was going to say," said Hermione, with an exaggerated sigh, "The Ministry has brought myself on as the Healing and Coronery consultant for the case. They found Crabbe's work... unsatisfactory."

Draco was silent so long that Hermione wondered if he'd heard her.

"Okay," he said quietly, "I trust you with the investigation."

Hermione blinked, and then shook her head to clear it of the warm feeling that flooded her conscious. _His mother just died, Hermione, get it together._

"That's good then," Harry interrupted her thoughts, "We will have to bring Theo Nott in for questioning, as he was a significant part of your morning."

Draco nodded, agreeing, although he didn't really have much choice.

"I'll take him home and check the wards on his flat?" Hermione offered. Harry caught her eye, asking, in a single glance, if that was _really_ okay. She responded with a tiny nod in the affirmative.

"Alright."

* * *

Draco didn't remember getting home; he'd almost blacked out when Hermione hauled him to his feet, and when the roaring in his ears had subsided, he found himself sitting at his dining table with Hermione in his kitchen, preparing a cup of tea.

At the same time, he noted absently that there was a wetness on his cheeks. It tracked a burning trail from the corner of his eyes and dripped off the end of his nose, landing with a _plop_ on his hands, clenched together atop the mahogany table.

A steaming mug appeared in front of his hands. A dash of milk splashed into it, then half a spoon of sugar.

Draco wondered how she knew how he took his tea. He unclenched his hands deliberately, and then gripped the mug and brought it to his lips and blew the surface. He vaguely registered Hermione taking the seat across from him.

"I'm sorry, Draco," she said gently, "I know how close you were."

"Do you?" he asked, twisting of his lips into a bitter smile, "An hour before I met with you, she referred to you as a _Mudblood."_

She visibly flinched as he spat the word across the table, "I-"

"I'm sorry. It's not your fault. It's not hers either."

She breathed out her nose and took a sip of her tea.

"I was never sure if Lucius was proud of me. But Mother always was. Even when a Muggleborn beat me out for top place every year, I was to be proud of my good results."

"My parents never quite got the significance of my grades," offered Hermione in return, "My grades couldn't be applied to a Muggle pursuit. I couldn't do medicine or law on my Transfiguration grade, so I could say it was a good grade, but they had no real measure for it."

"Kind of ironic that you ended up doing Healing and Law then, hey?" Draco allowed himself a quiet chuckle, "Are they proud now?"

Hermione's face dropped, "I don't know. I Obliviated them before I left with Harry before 7th year. They don't know they have a daughter."

"FUCK," slipped from his lips unbidden and his tea cup hit the wall, hot water and ceramic shattering. Hermione jumped, her eyes leaping back up to his face to watch the tears spill over his cheeks, "Fuck, Hermione I am _so_ sorry."

"It's-"

"Don't you dare say it's okay, it isn't in the slightest."

She nodded mutely.

"I would not blame you at all if you hate my mother, and me. We watched that crazy bitch take a _knife_ to your arm-"

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, her hand reached to rub the thin red line across her throat, still vivid and angry ten years after the fact. Tears welled in her eyes.

"Draco-"

"I wish I was braver," he seized her hands, drawing her a little close for her comfort, "You, and Potter, and Weasley, and the whole Order, you all stood up to Him, you didn't care at all if that meant you'd die. I wish I'd Avada'd Aunt Bella the minute she turned her wand on you, even if it meant my life."

"Shut _up,"_ she shouted, pulling her hands from his, "Shut up, you idiot. If you'd died, I would've blamed myself. If you'd died, you wouldn't have had Scorpius, or known Astoria, or any life beyond the short miserable life under Voldemort. It's a _good_ thing that you're here now."

He was silent, finally exhausted from the day's events, grief-stricken and shell-shocked.

"Don't you _dare_ try and think about all the things you _could have done_ now, it's too late. Let yourself be sad, don't think about all the _what if's."_

Hermione tossed her almost empty cup in the same direction as his had gone, minutes earlier. The crash and clink of the crockery rang in his ears.

Hermione gripped his shoulders and forced him to look her in the eyes. They were bright with tears, golden in the waning afternoon light.

"I forbid you from sitting around feeling bad about your past transgressions against me. Grieve for your mother."

He nodded, mutely.

"And owl me when you're ready for that dinner."

His eyes widened; he'd been sure his outburst had ruined the prospect.

"Goodbye Draco. I'm sorry."

She vanished his broken tea cups with a wave of her wand, and left through the Floo.

* * *

 **AUTHORS NOTE: Oh my god, I'm so sorry. This chapter took forever because work has been flat out and I've had house guests and no time to write. This chapter is a bit shorter than usual but I figured it was best to get something to you before I lost all my readers :D**

 **Anyone else love a bit of angsty Draco? I wanted to build on the tentative friendship they're forming, even in the wake of a tragedy. I love Narcissa but I unfortunately had to sacrifice her for the plot this time.**

 **If you're also reading my other story, that will be updated this week too.**

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!**

 **~Alycat**


	9. Chapter 8: Bloodless

**CHAPTER 8/BLOODLESS/27 AUGUST 2008**

Draco swam out of unconsciousness at around 2am, and then sat upright in bed trying to recall the circumstances under which he had gotten there. A dull pain landed with a _thunk_ in his chest when he remembered that his mother was dead.

She wasn't the best mother there ever was, he was sure, but she had loved him, and she'd been all he'd had left. He felt her loss keenly, allowing another few tears to well before he swiped them away and took a resolute breath.

It was then that a house elf popped into existence, startling him out of his abject misery.

"Master Draco," the elf was flustered, "Master Draco, Miss Stori, is- she's- you is needed!"

Draco leapt out of bed immediately, grabbing his trousers from the chair next to his bed, hopping on one foot and then the other to get his legs in.

"What happened, Elmy?" he asked of the elf, who tugged at her ears in distress.

"Miss Stori is fallen asleep in the hall and won't wake up."

Draco's blood ran cold.

"Which wing, Elmy?"

"Lower East."

"Elmy, please send an urgent Floo to Hermione Granger. Tell her it's Astoria, and I'll meet her at St Mungos."

Elmy nodded, wide eyes, and Draco careened down the hall towards the east wing.

He found Astoria collapsed in the Lower East hallway, as Elmy had said. She was breathing, shallowly, but did not respond when he gripped her shoulder firmly and shook. She was pale.

He pulled her into his arms and instructed another of the waiting elves to look after Scorpius if he awoke. The elf nodded, wide eyed and worried, and Draco stepped into the Floo with a shout of, "St Mungos."

* * *

He arrived in the Emergency Department of the Healing institute, which was entirely too calm and sedate for the distress he was feeling.

"Please, fetch Healer Matthews or Priscilla Podmore."

He turned, visibly relieved to hear Hermione's voice speaking. "Granger,"

She acknowledged him with a nod, but turned to her patient, quickly taking stock of her condition.

"Follow me," she ordered, and he didn't even think to argue, following her through the Mungo's hall until Hermione swept them behind a curtain into a cubicle. He lay Astoria out on the bed, and Hermione immediately began diagnostics spells.

" _Ostende, egritu, revelinjur."_

The results appeared in green glowing letters, the letters and numbers spinning and pausing seemingly randomly, but Hermione seemed to understand, her brow furrowed and her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Healer Granger?"

"Ah, Matthews." Hermione looked up from the diagnostics with a look of relief, "Good, I need your opinion. You see this?"

Draco tuned them out, his gaze zeroing in on Astoria's face, his own creased with worry. Stori looked pale and lifeless. His stomach clenched. He couldn't lose her. Scorpius couldn't lose her.

"Mr Malfoy," Healer Matthews said, "We need your consent to commence the transfusion."

He looked from Matthews to Granger, and back again, "Right now?"

"Yes. The curse is ravaging her body," Hermione answered, "There's a significant chance that if we don't act now, there won't be another chance."

"You mean-"

She nodded solemnly, "Astoria may not survive the night."

"Of course, you have my consent," he swallowed, "Do your best."

Hermione gripped his arm sympathetically, before turning back to Matthews, and starting to bark instructions. He was left in the cubicle when they wheeled the bed out the operating theatre, having prepared Astoria with a terrifying array of needles and acrid smelling disinfectant.

* * *

Hermione hooked a large bag of A negative blood onto the IV stand in preparation and took a moment to take a breath and shake the image of Draco Malfoy's worried face from her mind.

She wasn't sure when it had gotten to the point that she wanted to reach her hand up and smooth the worry from his forehead, but she could confidently say that it wasn't within the normal bounds of her client relationships.

"Healer W-Granger," Matthews corrected himself, "Ms Podmore and I are prepped. We can begin when you're ready."

She let her breath out with a whoosh, and nodded, "Alright. Let's begin."

She pulled the mask over her mouth, and turned to the pale, prone body of Astoria Greengrass, and cast a stasis charm. Her laboured breaths became shallow and regular almost instantly.

"Okay. For this to not endanger her life we need to be careful. The exact volume coming out needs to be replaced at an equal rate."

The two facing her nodded sharply, and she indicated for Matthews to continue preparing.

She cast a _sanguis_ and a diagnostic spell to keep an eye on things and began the painstaking process of siphoning Astoria's blood out through the tiny tube connected to a needle in the crook of one elbow, and the new blood in to the other elbow.

The blood that left her was black and congealed, taking an age to slip through the tube and into the waiting bucket, where it writhed menacingly. The feel of Dark magic crackled in the air, and it was all Hermione could do to not recoil in revulsion.

Matthews took over the siphoning of the cursed blood, leaving Hermione free to concentrate on the donated blood.

The colour began to return to Astoria's pallor, and Hermione wiped a bead of sweat from the corner of her eye. She held her wand steady, directing the fresh, donated blood from the bag into the tube that was connected directly to Astoria's bloodstream. The utmost precision was required; the cursed blood was so thick that restraint was required to stop the donated blood from rushing into her and curdling with the curse.

"Gods," Priscilla Podmore said, examining a sample of the cursed blood under a microscope, "This is awful. Ms Greengrass was very close to death by my reckoning."

Hermione gritted her teeth and nodded, not able to take her concentration away for a moment while Astoria's life hung in delicate balance.

* * *

Draco stared at his hands as he sat in the waiting room. Time was ticking by in infuriatingly small increments, like the last drips of treacle in the bottom of the jar when all you want is a spoonful for your porridge.

He heard a shuffling from the hall facing the waiting room and raised his eyes to meet the blue ones of Ronald Weasley.

"Malfoy?" He asked, unsure.

"Good job Weasley," he snapped, "Using your eyes and deductive skills is hard."

Weasley looked like he had swallowed something unpleasant.

Draco sighed, _drat it, "_ Sorry Weasley, that was rude."

Weasley's eyebrows shot up, and his face morphed to one of surprise, "Malfoy are you okay? Are you under the Imperius? Blink once for no, twice for yes."

He couldn't help the snort that escaped his mouth, "No, thanks for your concern."

"Sounds like something someone under the Imperius curse would say," Weasley muttered, and cracked a grin, "Why are you here? It's 3am."

"That hadn't escaped my notice, thanks. And _you're_ here at 3am."

"Hermione works out of a Mungo's lab, she's usually here late if I can't find her at the flat."

"Why do you need her this late?" His tone was sharper than he intended, and he winced.

Weasley gave him a searching look, "Rose woke up after a nightmare and wanted her Mum."

Draco winced again, "Ah. Sorry, I'm here because Granger's performing an emergency surgery on Astoria."

"Your wife?"

"Ex-wife," he corrected, automatically, "Blood curse."

"Shit," he said, sliding into the seat next to him, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

There was a beat of silence.

"Weasley?"

"Yeah?"

"This is weird."

"Yeah." Ron grinned again, "Harry won't believe me if I tell him."

Draco sighed, "Astoria's life is hanging in the balance, I've entrusted it to Hermione fucking Granger, and I'm sitting in the waiting room _chatting_ with Ronald Weasley."

His eyes flicked over to the ginger sitting next to him, whose face slid into a lazy grin when he caught his eye, "It's not the usual order of things for me either mate."

Draco forced the visceral reaction he had being called _mate_ by a Weasley and smiled weakly.

"I heard about your mum too." Weasley said quietly.

He stiffened, schooling his features, and nodded jerkily.

"I'm sorry," Weasley offered, "I can't imagine losing my mum."

"Your mother would crawl back through the mouth of Hades before she'd leave you lot," retorted Draco, "My mother probably welcomed death."

Weasley snorted, "No doubt she would. Crawl out the mouth of Hades, that is."

The doors into the Theatre cracked open, rending the air with the tension that only not knowing if someone had lived or died could produce. Hermione stepped out, her hair in a frizzy halo around her head, back lit by the bright light of the theatre.

She did not seem surprised to see Ron but addressed Draco first.

"The operation was a success," she said, and Draco felt his breath go out of his body, "We'll have to monitor Astoria for the next couple of months to ensure that the curse doesn't redevelop in the blood, and in the meantime, a sample of the cursed blood will be going to the Gringott's Curse Breaking Department to study."

Draco nodded in dumb relief and exchanged a small grin with Weasley. Late nights made for strange bedfellows indeed.

Hermione watched the exchange with a wry bemusement.

"How's Rose?" she asked, and Weasley stood to take her to the side and discuss their child. He also put a hand on her swelling stomach. The fond looks they exchanged made Draco's heart clench.

He stood, raised a hand to Granger, who acknowledged it with a nod, and made his way to the Floo. He needed a god damn drink.

* * *

 **AUTHORS NOTE: Oh my _Gods_ I am so sorry. This has taken forever to write because work has been pedal to the metal and I've had no time. Hopefully this is worth the wait. PLEASE READ AND REVIEW. I love reading what you think of everything.**

 **Much love,**

 **Alycat**


	10. Chapter 9: Aftermath

**CHAPTER 9/AFTERMATH/12 SEPTEMBER 2008**

He was stripping aconite root in the middle of his work day, in preparation for the October moon cycle. Wolfsbane was one of his most used brews following the war; Greyback's reign of terror was felt across a number of generations.

It was only due to Hermione Granger lobbying the Minister that Wolfsbane was now subsidised so potioneers could provide the draught to the most vulnerable. Discrimination had also been heavily legislated, with employers found in contrary to the laws fined heavily. It wasn't perfect, not yet, but it was getting there.

The bell on the door of the Apothecary jingled. Draco took care to wash his hands of the poisonous herb and walked out from behind the screen. Theo was leaning against the counter, reading one of the shop pamphlets that warned of the danger of "Alleywitches", the colloquial term for unregistered and unregulated potioneers who sold dangerous or restricted potions in alley street carts.

Theo had been overseeing Astoria's recovery since Draco had missed so much work in the lead up to her surgery and his mother's death. It was good distraction for Theo, who had been nearly as upset as Draco to hear about Narcissa's murder, and it was good for Astoria to have company and assistance with Scorp, whom she refused to hand off to the house elves even as she couldn't stand for more than a couple of minutes.

"Theo," he greeted, "Everything okay?"

Theo jolted up, so engrossed in the pamphlet that he had not noticed him enter.

"Hey Drake," he grinned, "All good. I just told Stori I'd pick up some pain potions and lunch. Scorp fell asleep early."

Draco stepped behind the counter to rifle through the shelves of pre-made potions, selecting a couple of potions that countered pain from curse damage, and a physical pain blocker, "She likes the foccacia's at Ankernel Café."

"Thanks." Theo put the potions in his carry bag, and then examined his nails, suddenly nervous, "Er... Draco?"

He swept his gaze up, noting Theo's foot tapping on the floorboards and his chewed cuticles. His eyes narrowed, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is... wrong, exactly," Theo said, slowly, "I just..."

"Spit it out," said Draco impatiently, "I have aconite root to strip."

" _IwanttoaskStoriout_ ," Each word tripping over the one before it, and then Theo clapped a hand over his mouth, mortified.

Draco's jaw stayed agape for a moment before he snapped it closed, "You want to ask Tori out... on a date?"

"Yes."

"And you're asking me... for permission?"

Theo cringed, "I... guess?"

He snorted, then upon thinking on it a little longer, burst into laughter. Theo looked on, stoic, until Draco straightened up and smoothed his face.

"Astoria is a grown woman who can make her own decisions, Theo."

"I _know_ that Draco," he rolled his eyes, "I just-"

"Thought that I might not be okay with you dating the woman who divorced me after 8 years of arranged marriage?"

"Well it sounds stupid when you say it like that!"

"That's because it is stupid," Draco sighed, "I'm not going to pretend it won't be a _little_ weird. But I love Tori very much – as a friend," he hastened to add, seeing Theo's stricken expression, "And I want her to be happy. And I trust you to not be a garbage human."

"Gee, thanks."

"It's a compliment of the highest order. Also I think I asked Granger on a date. Anyway you should be on your way, Tori is waiting." Draco tried to usher him out of the shop, but Theo's brain engaged before he could get the door shut.

"You WHAT?" he sputtered, digging his heels in, "You're not getting rid of me that easy, what the _fuck_ aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing, I just told you everything there is to know," he said, shutting the door on Theo's foot.

"Ow, you prick," Theo shoved back at the door with unexpected force, sending Draco sprawling. He conjured an armchair, locked the Apothecary door with an ominous jingle (if a jingle could ever be described as such), and clasped his hands in front of him, "Explain."

Draco sighed. Theo's attention didn't waver.

"You know she's the one on Tori's case?"

Theo nodded, "For a good Galleon or two, I would wager."

"How much do you know about what she does?"

He rolled his eyes, "Just the basics. She's an over-achiever who didn't want to work at the Ministry past her apprenticeship. Law and Healing, specialist consultancy, highly successful et cetera et cetera. Married, but no brood to everyone's surprise, given that she married a Weasley. Pregnant with her second and probably last child. Separated from the Weasel at last check."

"The basics?" Draco said with a raised brow.

"Yes, the basics," Theo said, "You're the one who has been living under a rock. This was all in the Prophet over the last decade."

"The Prophet is rubbish. I'd more trust the Quibbler, even with Loony running it now."

"Sure, the gossip column is as bad as Witch Weekly," he agreed, "The Quidditch page is good these days, She-Weasel took over when she retired from the Harpies. And it's still the most widely read paper in Wizarding Britain."

"Maybe it's not as bad without Skeeter," Draco begrudgingly acknowledged, "Also they're getting a divorce."

"Because of your torrid love affair?"

"Partially, I guess."

He snorted, "So let me get this straight. A chance meeting because you hired Granger to heal your ex-wife led to rumours of a sordid love affair, which you bonded over and are now conducting an actual sordid love affair?"

Draco groaned, and rubbed the heel of his hand over his eyes, "Simplistic analysis, but yes, basically. Except the only actual time I've spent with her was talking about my ex-wife, or identifying Mother's body, so I don't know if I'd describe it as a "sordid love affair"."

Theo winced, "That's rough. When did you ask her out?"

"Before Mother," he ran a hand through his hair, "After which I found out that she Obliviated her parents to save them from Death Eaters and they have no idea they've got a daughter."

"She told you that?"

He nodded.

"Fuck...I- yeah that's rough. What did you say?"

"I swore... a lot. And," with a grimace, "I don't know, I thought I'd scared her off, but she told me to owl her when I was ready."

"Which you haven't yet?"

"Which I haven't yet," he confirmed, "I need to visit Lucius to tell him about Mother. I've been putting it off, and I don't think I'll be _ready_ until I've done that."

"That's fair enough."

* * *

"Visitor for Lucius Malfoy," announced the guard, seemingly to no-one, and then pointed forward, "Straight till the end on the left."

Hermione suppressed a shudder as she walked down the long row of cells. Even without the Dementors standing guard, the entire place was seeped in depression.

Her steps echoed off the stone walls, and she could feel the gaze of the inmates in each cell pressing against her.

"Potter's pet Mudblood, here to play?" a sing-song voice came from her left. Hermione jerked her head to the voice, meeting the feral amber eyes of Fenrir Greyback.

He dragged his tongue over his filthy teeth and his pupils blew wide, "You smell..." his tongue flicked out experimentally and he tasted the air, " _delicious."_

"You're disgusting," she told him, and he bared his teeth in a menacing grin and nosed the air again.

"The moon is close," he continued as though she hadn't spoken, "Just a taste... many cycles since I've tasted... sampled tender flesh..." he reached a clawed hand towards her, "You could be whelping my pups by new moon."

"Thanks for the offer, but I'd rather die." she replied honestly, side stepping his hand.

Deep laughter came from the next cell, the man shrouded by shadow in the corner of his cell, "Nice try, beastie. Leave the poor girl be."

"Thanks." She responded, shortly, "I can look after myself."

"I never said otherwise, Miss Granger. Or is it Weasley now?" Lucius emerged from shadows and leant against the bars, both his arms through the gap in a picture of casual ease.

"It was Weasley for an 8-year interlude."

"I see," he replied, delicately, "To what to I owe the pleasure of your company, Miss Granger?"

"Do you get the Prophet?"

He laughed humourlessly, "Only when the guards throw the dogs a metaphorical bone; that is to say, once in a blue moon."

"I see," she echoed, her lips thinned momentarily, "There is an ongoing investigation into a number of violent homicides. I am the Healing consultant on the case."

"Congratulations," the senior Malfoy's words were dry but not entirely sarcastic.

"I've identified the attacker as a partially transformed lycanthrope," she watched his eyebrow raise slightly, the only indication of a reaction, "I'm very sorry to tell you that Narcissa Malfoy was the latest victim of these attacks."

Lucius blinked, "I beg your pardon?"

She repeated slowly, "Narcissa Malfoy was found dead inside Malfoy Manor on August 26. The death has been linked to the ongoing investigation and was ruled a homicide."

Lucius sagged into the bars and paled, "Cissa... is dead?"

"Yes."

He didn't cry; to do so would be improper, and Malfoy men were never improper, convict status or otherwise. His eyes _did_ glisten, and his breath hitched. She found herself placing a comforting hand on his arm, and he started, unused to human touch after nearly a decade in prison.

"Draco was very upset," she continued, "I wasn't sure when he would be able to get here to tell you, so I came myself."

"Do you... are you... in contact with Draco?" The question was barely above a whisper, "Is he well?"

She contemplated her answer for a moment, "As well as he can be. Astoria was very ill."

His lips twisted into the semblance of a smile, "The Greengrass affliction."

"We have cured her."

"I'm impressed. And my grandson?"

"Scorpius is also well. He splits his weekend between Astoria and Draco, they are separated."

"Ah," he inhaled, "I told Cissa that he would not be long in an arranged marriage."

"Were you not an arranged marriage, Mr Malfoy?" she asked, curious.

"We were, but by good fortune we were also a love match."

"I would have thought Astoria is a match you would approve of."

Lucius drew back from the bars of his cell front and picked up the single stool in the room. He placed it in front of her and sat. She conjured one for herself and sat, opposite sides of the thick iron bars.

"Maybe once, certainly. The War wiped the last vestiges of superiority I felt from my soul, and with it, any aspirations of grandeur that I ever harboured for my family."

"You're speaking in riddles."

He sighed, "Once upon a time, Miss Granger, my goals aligned with the Dark _Lord's."_ His tongue curled around the moniker and spat it out in disgust, "The war showed me not only the error of my ways, but also the foolishness of pursuing a goal to the detriment of the ones I love."

"He asked me to dinner," she said, suddenly, examining his face for a reaction, "He divorced Astoria, and he'd like to take me on a date."

Lucius regarded her calmly, "Then I hope, Miss Granger, that he will do the Malfoy name proud and atone for the sins of his narrow minded and foolish ancestors."

She stood abruptly, "I'm very sorry about Narcissa. Perhaps I will see you again."

She turned to leave.

"Miss Granger?" he called, and she half turned back, "Tell me, do you have a book I could borrow?"

She put her hand into her bag and withdrew a copy of Jane Austen's complete works. Lucius accepted it with a nod of his head.

And then Hermione fled.

* * *

 **AUTHORS NOTE: Hiiii everyone, sorry sorry sorry etc. Work and home are crazy and we've just moved house and we don't have any internet yet, so I just haven't had the chance to finish up this chapter. Not to mention Draco's dialogue was all wrong and I had to start over about six times - imagine me rolling my eyes here. Damn characters that just won't work properly.**

 **The chapter is a bit longer than usual, so hopefully it makes up for it. Please read and review! Your feedback is my life blood!**

 **~Alycat**


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